Only Everything
by katehathaway
Summary: A collection of MOSTLY Draco/Hermione one-shot stories (marked COMPLETE because of this, still UPDATES REGULARLY) with some other pairings. Ranging from fluff to angst, but ever romantic in nature. Multiple universes from cannon to AU. Rated M to be safe, but there is a summary/rating/pairing for each fic in the Table of Contents inside.
1. Table of Contents

**Only Everything**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of these characters. J.K. Rowling is owed all credit. Cover art is also not mine, but I could not find a source. If you are able to, please let me know. Other disclaimers are on my page.

**A/N - **This will be a collection of MOSTLY Draco/Hermione one-shot stories with the some other pairings. Ranging from fluff to angst, but ever romantic in nature. Multiple universes from cannon to AU. Rated M to be safe, but there is a summary/rating/pairing for each fic below

* * *

**Table of Contents:**

Updated as new chapters are added.

* * *

_**2-5 . . . Imagine**_

_Rating:_ M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Hinny (Harry x Ginny)

_Summary:_ This is roughly based on the plot of "To All the Boys I've Loved Before", but there will be plenty of plot changes. Hermione and Ron have broken up again. For good this time. In hopes of some form of therapeutic relief, Hermione writes owls to all of her past loves. Even the ones who didn't know she thought of them as so. She never intended on actually sending them, but now that the men know, what is she going to do? Post-Hogwarts, EWE.

**6 . . . _Countdown_**

_Rating:_ M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

_Summary:_ It's New Year's Eve and Draco has big plans for when the clock strikes twelve, but all of that nearly goes out the door when he spots Hermione in her gown.

**7 . . _. Touch Me, Hold Me, Love Me_**

_Rating__:_ M (smut)

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

_Summary__:_ The tension is tangible. She knows if she gives in to her desires, she'll likely regret it, but the logical voice inside her head disappears as his lips burn against hers, taking her to a place she'd never known.

**8 . . . _I Forgot That You Existed_**

_Rating: _T (mostly)

_Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Hansy (Harry x Pansy) and Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary:_ Hermione suffers a traumatic brain injury that leaves her with little recollection as to what happened over the past five years. Including her marriage. Meanwhile, Draco spends every day helping her heal as well as trying to win her over… again.

**9 . . . _Revelations¹_**

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Hansy (Harry x Pansy) and Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _A rebellious prince is fascinated with life beyond the dark and dangerous forest he is forced to live within. On one of his frequent visits to the boundary – journey's explicitly forbidden by his father – Prince Draco sees a young royal. A muggle queen. He knows they are star-crossed. He knows there is no possible way he can win her heart. Yet, he has to try. [A slow-burn romance, a deal with a Dark Lord, and an imminent war. Royalty. AU.]

**10 . . . _Death Eater's Advocate_**

_Rating: _M (dark themes)

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

_Summary: _The Dark Lord was successful in killing Harry Potter, and the wizarding world has suffered under the new reigns of his unforgiving band of Death Eaters. The Order has since been hunted down and marked as enemies of the new political state. The Canary is a notorious member of the resistance and is wanted for relaying crucial information about the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. As such, there is a steep reward for whomever manages to seize this faceless, nameless war criminal. Seize is not exactly the word Draco Malfoy would use to describe how the interaction went, but hey, he didn't expect to discover who the Canary really was… and he certainly didn't expect to fall in love with her either. Canon-compliant until Battle of Hogwarts.

**11 . . . **_**Bad Blood²**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Parkingrass (Pansy x Daphne) and hidden pairing

_Summary: _Enigmatic gang leader Draco Malfoy is cunning and cut-throat, but with the local authorities in his back pocket he is virtually untouchable. Newly minted secret agent Hermione Granger is tasked with going deep undercover and infiltrating the gang. Darkish Dramione. 1920s Muggle AU.

**12 . . . _Diary_**_** of a Bewildered Witch**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottpott (Theo x Harry)

_Summary: _Hermione Granger is pregnant. Godric help us all. (Irreverent)

**13 . . . _The Malfoy Theory_**

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottpott (Theo x Harry)

_Summary: _Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger have been at each other's throats for the entirety of their professional career. This is to be expected – They are rivals in mixed doubles. Yet, what the rest of the world doesn't know, is that their argumentativeness extended to the bedroom as well. Sporty Muggle AU.

**14 . . . _Moonlight_**

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

_Summary: _Where there is a handsome and noble prince, there is an innocent and benevolent maiden whom requires rescuing from a curse bestowed upon her. It is also true that where there is power, there is a man prepared to seize it at any cost. This story has many elements (twisted fairytale, soulmates, historical fantasy, etc) but it does take place in an AU where Potterverse magic exists and is quite a dark read.

**15-39 . . . **_**All The Things (I Hate About You) - Advent 2019**_

_Rating: _M for language and eventual sex

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger end up in the most precarious and ill-fated circumstance five years after the war: they become roommates.

**40 . . . _The_**_** Wimbledon Experiment**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottpott (Theo x Harry)

_Summary: _Prequel to _The Malfoy Theory _(Chapter 13). Hermione Granger, new to the professional level of tennis, must prove her worth to the world; however, her archnemesis, Draco Malfoy, isn't about to make her debut year very easy. The tension on the court is palpable, but it is even more intense _off_ the court. Sporty Muggle AU.

**41 . . . _Pour_**_** L'Adrénaline**_

_Rating: _T (mostly)

_Pairing: _Hinny (Harry x Ginny)

_Summary: _In a race around the world, Harry and Ginny discover they have more in common than their death-defying hobbies. Muggle AU.

* * *

1\. Now a major WIP under the same name, _Revelations_.

2\. Now a completed fic (120k+) with a different title, _The Art of Betrayal_. There is also a sequel WIP, _The Art of Deception_.


	2. Imagine, Part I

_**Imagine, Part I**_

_Rating:_ M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Hinny (Harry x Ginny)

_Summary:_ This is roughly based on the plot of "To All the Boys I've Loved Before", but there will be plenty of plot changes. Hermione and Ron have broken up _again_. For good this time. In hopes of some form of therapeutic relief, Hermione writes owls to all of her past loves. Even the ones who didn't know she thought of them as so. She never intended on _actually_ sending them, but now that the men know, what is she going to do? Post-Hogwarts, EWE.

**A/N - **I have reorganized this story (yet again, sigh) because I felt that one 30k installment was not helping anyone. So, now we're back to the original four installments posted as their own chapters to help break up the reading. Sorry for any confusion! No content was altered.

* * *

**Part I**

* * *

"Hermione?" Ginny called tentatively, searching for her in their flat.

She peered into the girl's room. Clothes were strewn all over the usually tidy space, taking up much of the floor and bed. The bed itself was unmade and had several chocolate wrappers, dirty tissues, and ripped up photographs all over it. The pile of clothing on the bed was suspiciously pulsating.

Ginny tip toed around the mess on the floor and poked at the pile of clothes with her wand. Her nose wrinkled up at the smell. With a swift flick of her wand, the room was organizing itself. Clothes found themselves in laundry bins while rubbish found itself in the normal bins.

Hermione hiccupped and looked up to see Ginny standing over her, upside down. She flipped over onto her stomach and sniffled.

"Ah, come on, Hermione . . ." She mustered a weak smile for her forlorn flatmate. "It'll be alright. You're better off without him anyway."

The young witch rubbed at the tears falling down her face. "Easy for you to say, you and Harry are doing just fine."

Ginny shuffled uneasily. Her and Harry _were _doing rather well at the moment. He was moving up in the Aurors, and she was a week or so away from the first match of her first season with the Holyhead Harpies.

"That's no excuse for you to act like _this._" She sat at the edge of the bed and raised her hand to attempt to comfort Hermione by brushing a hand through her hair, but at the sight of it, thought better of it.

"I'm _coping_!" Hermione said, aghast.

"I know, Mione, I know." She held her hand, looking down at the floor as she mumbled, "But you let him get to you these the past three times you two broke up, too."

Hermione grimaced, "This time it was _for real_. He made it very clear we weren't getting back together; besides I don't want to. He was such an arse about it."

Ginny sighed and stood up, moving to leave the room. "Fine, fine!"

She gave a sorrowful look to her friend, "At least take a shower and put a comb through your hair, would you? Then, you can go back to eating all of the chocolate frogs you want."

Hermione pouted. _What does she know about coping with break ups_?

She reached for a petite, velvet box hidden deep under her bed and dumped its contents out on her newly made up bed. It was her most secret and prized possessions. It contained the love letters she'd written over the years.

There were five in total:

Sam Lewis from primary school; after he'd picked up books she dropped in the hallway.

Draco Malfoy; after he was kind to her on the train to Hogwarts before their first year began.

Victor Krum; after he'd asked her to the Yule Ball.

Harry Potter; after they'd gotten close on their hunt for horcruxes and danced in the tent.

Finally, Ron Weasley; after they'd defeated the basilisk and shared a passionate kiss.

She wrote one whenever she had feelings so intense, she didn't know what else to do about them.

It no longer hurt her to look at many of the letters that she'd written over the years. If she was being honest with herself, she no longer felt as strongly about the guys she had written them for.

Except, perhaps, the most recent one.

Picking out the most recently written love note; she bit her lip. She poured herself a glass of wine and lay back opening the letter and reading it to herself. It was the love letter she'd written for Ron when they first started dating.

Rereading the letters helped remind her how passionate she had felt about the men in the beginning. How all-consuming. It served as a strong reminder that she would be able to find such a profound connection with someone new . . . eventually.

Hermione had no intentions of ever sending the letter to Ron, much less to any of the others. It was just for her. To understand how she felt.

She carelessly stuffed the letters back in the box, but she couldn't clasp it shut. In frustration, she launched the box across the room at her dresser and let it fall to the floor, its contents spilling out.

When she woke the next morning, she was groggy and disoriented. _How much_ _had she had to drink?_

Pressing her fingers to her temples, she fumbled around for her wand on the nightstand. Next to her wand she found a glass of water and a small homemade potion.

_Ginny_, she thought sweetly.

Despite her cool reserve to Hermione's methods of coping, Ginny was actually quite supportive of her friend.

Hermione made a mental note to thank her with a new pair of shoes or something or another before peeling off her clothes and hopping in the shower.

"Mione!" Ginny called, poking her head into the room. "You alive?"

She entered at the sound of the water running and exhaled a sigh of relief. _Finally_, she thought.

Ginny noted the neatly written envelopes on the floor and tucked them under her arm before exiting the room. She had errands to run and would do her friend the favor of sending these by owl for her. It was likely Hermione had meant to but seeing as she hadn't left her room over the past weekend, Ginny doubted it would get done soon if she didn't send them for her.

* * *

The following day at the Ministry headquarters was a bit brutal for Hermione. It was her first day back since Ron had broken up with her; she was actively avoiding places in the building they used to frequent.

The dining hall, devastatingly, was one of them.

She used to look forward to their lunches, usually accompanied by Harry, because despite working in the same department, Hermione often went the entire work day without seeing either of them.

Although, at the moment, she was quite glad for that fact. Running into Ron was the last thing she wanted to do today.

Since the cafeteria was out of the question, a new location to enjoy her lunch would have to be discovered.

Pulling out her favorite book, determinedly _not _a romantic novel, she settled into a seat in the small, hidden library behind the Obliviator Headquarters. That didn't last long because soon enough a wizard came over to shush her and pointed at a sign that clearly read "Soft Food Only".

She grimaced at her carrots. _Traitors_, she mumbled to herself.

After tirelessly wandering about the building, she ended up back at their level. Behind a set of double doors, across from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Auror Headquarters, and down another passage, she found herself sitting among Muggle artifacts in a shabby, dimly lit broom cupboard.

_Fucking lovely._

"Granger?"

Hermione snapped her head up to see grey, clear eyes scrutinizing her. She wanted to disappear into a very deep, dark hole and never resurface.

"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" she snapped, trying to maintain _some_ dignity.

He raised his eyebrows and hands defensively. His tone was calm and cool, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Who spit in your coffee this morning?"

She fidgeted in her seat, shoving the novel behind her so that he couldn't mock her for it. Crossing her arms over her chest, she waited for him to continue.

He shook his head at her, pressing his lips firmly together.

"Just dropping this off," he chucked a lighter into the box beside her.

"Right," she muttered.

He leaned against the doorway, his long legs extended out in front of him, nearly touching her own. "What are you doing in here, anyway, Granger?"

His hips pointed towards her in a way that made it difficult for her eyes not to fixate on them.

"Inventory." She squeaked, trying, and failing, to come off nonchalant.

To her surprise, he spared her the trauma of mocking her blatant lie.

"Well," he pretended to inspect his cuticles, "Have fun with that."

"Sorry about Astoria." She blurted out. A blush crept over her cheeks as a frown formed on his face.

Malfoy hastily took up a stoic expression, trying not to let her know how that comment had made him feel.

"Her loss." He quipped.

Hermione bit her lip, afraid to say anything more, dare she ruin his good mood any further.

As he turned to leave, he met her gaze and gave her a curt nod, "See you 'round, Granger. Try not to get lost on your way out."

Hermione buried her head in her hands. _Perfect_, she groaned, internally, _just perfect_.

* * *

"That's game," Harry remarked, placing his hand of cards openly on the table.

Hermione and Ginny shook their heads, taking a long sip of wine each. It was the third round Harry had won in a row. The three of them sat around the floor of the coffee table in Ginny and Hermione's flat.

There was a moment of silence, followed by Hermione loudly sighing.

"What do you think Ron is up to tonight?"

Ginny and Harry exchanged a weary glance. She noticed the way Ginny elbowed Harry before he cleared his throat.

"Err," He paused, ruffling his already unkempt hair. "Nothing, I suppose."

At Ginny's pointed look, he shrugged ever so slightly. She hung her head and tried to smile genuinely at Hermione.

She bit her lip, wanting to take their hint to shut up about him, but she couldn't help it.

"Should we owl him, invite him over?" she asked, shifting uncomfortably in her position across from the happy couple. "It's odd not having him here."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Ginny offered, maintaining a polite tone.

She took another sip of wine, needing the liquid confidence booster, "Why not?"

Ginny gave her a knowing look, then reached across the table to grasp Hermione's hand in her own.

"Don't you think it will be a bit," Ginny searched for the right word, "Awkward?"

She thought about it for a moment. Undoubtedly it would be awkward, but she missed him. So, she decided to play it off coolly.

She pulled her hand away from Ginny's and waved it as if waving off the audacity that it would be awkward to have her ex-lover present for game night, "Not at all, besides, you're both here!"

"Right," Ginny started, "But don't you find it a tad odd that it's a Saturday night and you're spending it playing rounds of card games and third-wheeling?"

Her tone was light, polite as ever, but Hermione couldn't help but wince. She knew that Ginny meant it in the nicest way possible, but _third-wheeling_ wasn't exactly something she enjoyed hearing from her best friends.

"No," she spun her index finger around the rim of the wine glass, avoiding making eye contact with either of them. "I don't mind playing cards, if anything it's proving to be quite the challenge with Harry. And I love hanging out with both of you."

"I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad," Harry interjected, finally coming to Ginny's aid, "But, Hermione, we _cancelled_ plans to be here tonight, and well, you're a bright, beautiful, _single_ young witch and I'm pretty sure you didn't have anything else going on. Am I right?"

He _was_ right.

"That was harsh, Harry." Ginny pressed her lips together, looking from him to her flatmate. "We just want you to be happy."

Hermione didn't reply. Instead, she took a long swig of her wine, finishing the glass. Then, she stood up to go and top it off in the kitchen.

* * *

Bundling up her scarf around her neck, Hermione waved her wand and apparated with a soft crack to the regional quidditch grounds.

The autumn breeze tossed her brunette curls about her face as she squinted at the arena that came into view. She set off to find a spot in the stands that would allow her to support Ginny at her first official match as a Holyhead Harpy, while also giving her an opportunity to catch up on her novel.

As she came up from the top of the stairs, she noticed a familiar face approaching her. Upon realizing she had no chance of avoiding his path without being _completely_ obvious about it, she tensed up and swallowed deeply, intensely aware of how little time she'd taken to get ready this morning.

"Granger," Malfoy growled, "We need to talk. _Alone_."

He grasped her arm tightly, leading her slightly away from the main path to the stands, but still within view. He released his hold on her to run his hands through his fine, perfectly groomed hair.

"Look," he told her, clearly frustrated. "I wanted to say that I appreciate your apparent taste for the finer things in life, really, but it's never going to happen, Granger."

She coughed, "Pardon, _what_?"

"Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Don't lie to me." He reprimanded.

Her hands crossed over her chest, defiantly. "I can't lie to you, Malfoy, if I have no idea what you're even talking about."

He sighed, his voice lowered, "From what I remember, and that's not much, per se, because we were _eleven_, but . . ."

He was gesturing towards her with one hand, but in the other she spotted a loose piece of parchment with his name written _in her hand writing_ at the top.

She suddenly felt ill.

Her head throbbed, heart pounding in her chest. She found it immensely difficult to breathe, all of a sudden. She felt her knees give out beneath her. The sky spun, and then, there was blackness.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he bellowed.

Malfoy, having as quick reflexes as he did, managed to catch her before she hit the metal floor of the stands.

"Granger?" He called to her, willing her to come to.

"_Granger!_" He hissed with a bit more fervor.

When Hermione finally came to, she blinked a few times before meeting Malfoy's darkened, stormy eyes. Inches from her face.

Malfoy, still holding onto her, extremely aware of the placement of his hands on her waist, cocked his head to the side, "You ok?"

"What happened?" she croaked.

"You fainted," he pulled her into a sitting position, kneeling beside her. "Rather spectacularly, I might add."

He smirked. He charmed a glass of water to appear in his free hand, then passed the glass to her.

"Drink." It was a demand, not a request, she noticed.

She took a tentative sip, surprised, once again, by his kind gesture. She closed her eyes and let her head fall into her palms, finding herself embarrassed in front of _Draco Malfoy_ far more often than she'd like, recently.

When she picked her head up, she looked over Malfoy's shoulder to see none other than Ron striding towards them from farther down the path. Her eyes widened in horror at the piece of parchment in his hand.

"_For fucks sake_," she panicked.

She didn't want to face him after knowing exactly what was written in that letter.

Her eyes locked with Malfoy's for a brief instant before she threw herself onto him, pinning his body onto the metal floor with her own.

Hermione slipped both of her hands behind his neck and held onto him tightly as she pressed her lips to his. They were unexpectedly warm and soft, inviting her to deepen the kiss, should she dare. His hands found her waist, his grip tightening as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. She traced his bottom lip with her tongue, then pulled away from him vehemently.

Giving him a curt nod and a mumbled gratuity, she stood up and sprinted towards the stairs behind her.

Leaving a speechless Malfoy and an even more confused Weasley to fend for themselves.

"Mione!" Ron tried to shout after her, but it was too late, she had disappeared below the stands.

Malfoy stood, dusted off his coat, and turned to face whatever it was she had been running from. His eyes met with Weasleys and narrowed at the sight of the parchment in his hand.

_Interesting_, he thought.


	3. Imagine, Part II

_**Imagine, Part II**_

_Rating:_ M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Hinny (Harry x Ginny)

_Summary:_ Part II of the installment.

* * *

**Part II**

* * *

The wine was bitter, but it was also slightly, _slightly_ calming her nerves; so, Hermione welcomed it, finishing her first glass quickly and pouring another. The general capability to sit still or to stop her legs from shaking proved nearly impossible.

She alternated between pacing the living room and sitting on the sofa wondering what the bloody hell she's going to do about the three circulating letters.

Her room had been torn apart the moment she'd apparated back into the apartment from the quidditch match. The remaining letters were nowhere to be found; only the empty velvet box remained.

Upon searching the rest of the flat, Hermione found two of the letters on the floor below the mail slot of the front door. There was an intense sigh of relief at the returned mail._ Thank Merlin for incorrect addresses_, she thought.

There was a minor disturbance in the air as Harry and Ginny appeared into the room.

Harry let go of Ginny's hand and moved to sit next to Hermione on the living room sofa.

"Where were you earlier?" Ginny asked, sitting on the floor across from them.

She mumbled, "I . . . Err . . ."

There was a hint of a smile creeping up on Harry's face as he said, "I thought we agreed to sit together? Ron and I were looking for you, in fact, he seemed quite nervous and, if I'm not mistaken, _eager_ to see you?"

Hermione tried to keep her tone even. "Did he say anything to you?"

"No, _is_ there something to say? I mean if you two are back together again, you can just tell us." He said.

Her eyes widened, "Oh no, no! No. _No_." She shook her head repeatedly. "It's not that."

"Good." Ginny said while Harry simultaneously shouted, "So there _is_ something going on! Well come on then, Mione, spit it out."

She pursed her lips, wondering just how much she should tell them. They'll certainly think that she's bonkers for writing _five_ love letters to various men. Especially since Harry was one of the recipients. She would definitely have to explain how that happened, and obviously Ron's, but she was sure she could spare herself the embarrassment of including the other three.

"Well," Hermione started, "It's quite embarrassing, actually, because I may have written Ron a love letter."

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look of confusion. "Ok?"

"It may or may not have been extremely idealized, explicit, romantic . . . I wrote it when we first got together, sort of as a way to understand how I was feeling. It was . . . err . . . very intense?"

Ginny cocked her head to the side, "I still don't see how this is embarrassing? You two dated for quite a while."

"Right, but we've broken up so many times and the letter was . . . well . . . _very_ romantic. Quite heartfelt, mushy, and all of that corny nonsense teenage girls are stereotyped to dream of. It's embarrassing to have him read that after he only just broke up with me."

She bit her lip, waiting for either of them to break the silence.

"Ooh," Ginny gave her a crooked frown. "That's unpleasant."

Harry put an arm around Hermione and pulled her into a hug, "It'll be alright!"

"There's more," she sighed, looking up at Harry, "I wrote one for you, too."

"_What?"_ He and Ginny asked incredulously.

Hermione realized how that may have come off and immediately spoke up, "Oh no! Not like Ron's, well, not really. You see I wrote it while we were hunting horcruxes back in the day, and there was one night, I don't know, we were both rather lonely, and we danced, and you were so kind. . ." She tried, and failed, to slow her breathing, realizing that she was making it worse.

Her arms waved frantically, "It was silly! I just felt very loved at the time, but you are my best friend, Harry! And Ginny! I would never . . . I had no intentions of sending it, I don't even feel that way anymore!"

Harry and Ginny were both stifling their laughter, then he shook his head at Hermione's frazzled state and reached over to hug her.

"It's alright, Mione! I believe you."

Ginny, with a gaping smile on her face, said, "How many of these letters did you bloody write?"

"Just the two." She lied.

"Wait . . . Did you put these letters in slightly yellow envelopes and address them?" Ginny asked.

Hermione's eyes widened, "Yes. How did you - "

"_Fuck_." Ginny offered a pained smile, her eyes pinched, "I think I'm the one who sent them."

"YOU WHAT?" Hermione sat up straight and nearly spilled what was left of her drink.

Ginny leaned instinctively away from her, "I'm sorry! It's just that you barely left your room, so I thought I was doing you a favor, they were just right there. They were already addressed and sealed and I . . ." Her voice trailed off.

She peered at Hermione.

"There were five of them, though."

Hermione bit her lip, then tried to sink into the sofa as she mumbled something incoherent.

"Hermione?" Harry said, glancing back and forth between her and Ginny, not fully understanding what just happened.

"I lied." Hermione closed her eyes briefly, "I wrote _five_ letters."

"For fuck's sake!" He stood up and ran a hand through his especially disheveled hair.

Hermione looked sideways at Ginny, but the girl was on the floor hysterically laughing as the enormity of the situation dawned on her.

"Oh, you're _so_ fucked if these other guys read them." She called out between laughing fits.

Hermione grimaced. "I _know_ that, Ginny, thank you!"

A knock at the door caused all three of them to exchange questioning looks before Ginny rose from her position on the floor to squint through the peephole.

"It's Ron." She stated, turning to face Hermione and Harry.

"Why didn't he just apparate in?" Harry asked.

Hermione jumped up from her seat and flushed under the hidden accusation, "I redid the wards when we broke up. I was afraid he'd pop in unexpectedly and see what a mess I'd become."

Ginny nodded at Hermione, she had seen her at her worst and understood. Her hand hovered above the doorknob as Ron knocked again, "Want me to let him in?"

_The way the sun shines through your hair creates a vibrant color so enticing, so mesmerizing, that like a moth to the flame, it takes everything I have not to touch it._

She felt her head spin and panic set at the thought of facing Ron.

With a swift movement, she reached for her wand and called out, "You never saw me; I wasn't here," before disappearing from the room with a soft crack.

* * *

Draco had been sitting at the bar for nearly an hour when he had just about come to the conclusion that he was the biggest fool of them all. Thinking that Granger would come out for a drink. Given the day she'd had, or at least the events that he had witnessed, Draco would most certainly have gone out for a drink . . . or several.

Perhaps not to a pub quite as sticky and desolate as this one, but he knew that Potter and she-Weasley frequented this establishment, so it was just as likely Granger did, too.

He grimaced as he sent the remainder of the firewhiskey in his glass to the back of his throat. His lips stung at the contact and he instinctively ran his tongue along his lower lip.

His lips had similarly stung earlier when Granger had pulled hers away from his.

He silently cursed himself for that thought, but then again, that was why he found himself at this _Godric-foresaken_ pub.

He wanted to know . . . No. He _needed_ to know what that was about.

Draco moved to stand and leave, it was evident that Granger would not be making an appearance that evening, but he instantly sat back down as she swung open the door to the pub and stomped over to the other end of the very empty bar.

She sat down at a stool and immediately let her forehead sink to hit the bar top; her curls falling around her. He frowned at the thought of her hair touching _whatever_ was causing this place to be so damn _sticky_, then internally reprimanded himself again.

He watched as she reluctantly picked her head up and signaled to the bartender for a drink, which she began to chug the moment it was placed in front of her.

Pleased with himself at predicting the likelihood of her showing up to the pub, _this_ pub, he called out to her loudly enough that he knew she'd hear it clearly from her end of the bar.

"Hey, Granger."

She consequently spit up her drink.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Draco moved to her side to pat her on the back as she coughed.

When she finished clearing her throat, he sat in the barstool next to her

The bartender came over to them with a glass of water for Hermione, then nodded to Draco at her side, "Your friend want anything to drink?"

"He's not my friend." She snapped.

Draco ignored that, leaning comfortably back in the seat, "I'll have firewhiskey, neat. Cheers."

She surveyed him, but he worked to keep his facial expressions as neutral as possible.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She asked.

His eyes flickered to the glass the bartended had just placed in front of him, "Having a drink, Granger, what does it look like I'm doing?"

Her chest heaved as she dramatically sighed, "I meant, what are you doing _here_?"

She gestured around the room.

"It's a pub."

"Yes," she sighed again, taking a sip of her drink, "but it's _my_ pub."

His eyes glinted; she was catching on.

_Fuck._

"I didn't know you owned this place."

She gave him an exasperated look of annoyance, to which he took utter delight in. She was too easily wound up.

"Don't be dense. This is the _only_ pub I ever go to, and I've never seen you here."

He felt his heart rate increase and silently prayed that she couldn't tell.

"You should really be more observant of your surroundings, Granger," he jerked his thumb behind him to where he previously sat at the other end of the bar, "I was settled there _before_ you even got here."

She narrowed her eyes at him, searching for any sign of deceit. Apparently, she found none because the tension in her shoulders visibly released.

Draco sipped at his drink, "Listen, about earlier - "

She cut him off, "Do you really want to do this right now?"

"Yes." His grey eyes darkened.

"Listen," She turned to face him, their knees brushed up against each other, "Draco Malfoy, I'm not trying to date you."

He blinked a few times, nearly stuttering, "Your mouth is saying something now, but earlier your mouth _said_ something completely different."

"You mean when I kissed you or when I wrote that letter? Because . . ."

She trailed off at the amusing look on his face, but when she asked what was so funny, he only shook his head.

"Fascinating how there are _two_ prime examples of your interest in me, and yet, you claim to _not_ want to date me?"

Her lips pursed, glaring at the smug look on his face.

"Here's the thing, Malfoy," her tone mimicking that of a primary teacher whose just about had it with her misbehaving students, "I don't actually like you. I just had to make it _look_ like I did so that the person that I _actually_ like wouldn't think that I liked them."

He nodded curtly, "Right. Weasley."

She gaped at him, "How do _you_ know - "

"Aren't you two an item, or whatever? Was that was happened, you wanted to make him jealous? Because I completely understand why you attacked me, I have that effect on a lot of girl's boyfriends."

Hermione stuttered incoherently, attempting to digest what he'd just said while trying not to get too distracted by the gorgeous, mischievous grin on his face.

"I – what – no – we broke up – _jealous_ – excuse me?" She finally spat out.

Draco enjoyed the frustration. It was amusing that such a brilliant mind could be so confounded.

He raised a brow at her, waiting for her to gather her thoughts.

"We're broken up. I'm _not_ trying to make him jealous; I just can't have him believing I still have feelings for him after what he put me through. Certainly not to the extent that bloody letter made it seem. Bless Harry for being so understanding. _He_ didn't even _know_ about his letter when we spoke."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Ron and I weren't the only ones receiving love letters from you? Wow, you really think you're special and then you find out she wrote letters to three guys." He feigned affliction.

It wasn't all that difficult for him to pretend like it didn't bother him. _Because it did_, a conniving voice echoed in the back of his mind. He promptly told it to _fuck off_.

A smile formed on her lips at his perplexed expression; she sipped at her drink, "Actually, I wrote five letters, so don't go feeling all that special, Malfoy."

"_Five_?" He gaped, unable to hide a smirk. "Fuck, Granger. You're a maneater."

Hermione was unable to hide the blush that settled on her cheeks at his genuine compliment.

"Who else did you write letters for, then?" He prompted. Curious would be an understatement.

She shifted in her seat, debating whether or not to tell him. Then, again, she quite enjoyed the look on his face when he'd heard she'd written so many letters. It felt good to not be ridiculed or pitied for her somewhat childish display of emotion.

"If I tell you, will you let it be? I'd rather this not end up in the tabloids."

He shrugged, his eyes never breaking from hers. After a breathless moment, she gave in.

"Okay. Sam Lewis."

"_Who_?" He racked his brain for some nobody he'd likely overlooked in the library or something, knowing her.

"Primary school." He shook his head and she continued, "The other one was for Victor Krum."

He scoffed, "_That - _"

Draco promptly cut himself off. Best not to talk poorly of the quidditch champion, and if he were being honest with himself, which he certainly was not, it was because he feared she may turn around and belittle _his own_ quidditch skills as an effort to defend the guy.

Hermione stood up and moved to leave the bar, "Right, well, I'm going to go now."

"Wait," He stood up beside her, their bodies only inches from each other. He could smell the sweet scent of roses in her hair. "Let me walk you home. You've had a few drinks and probably shouldn't be apparating right now."

She tilted her head to meet his grey, stormy gaze. It would be yet _another_ of his many recently kind gestures towards her. But he was right. It would be unsafe for her to apparate at the moment, something could go horribly sideways.

"That's fine, I suppose." There was no way he was getting any more gratuity than that. Merlin-forbid his smug look attained more credibility.

The two of them left the pub and turned down the dimly lit street leading to her flat. The silence was comfortable; both were enjoying the quiet night, and much to their mutual denial, each other's company.

Outside her flat, she reached for her wand to unlock the front door, but turned to face him before doing so.

"Sorry I kissed you." She offered breathlessly.

His lips twitched into a slight smirk, "Could've been worse."

Despite her reservations of letting another man get close enough to break her heart so soon after her last heartache, she found herself a bit melancholic at having to leave him.

"Goodnight." She turned and raised her wand, chanting _alohomora_.

Draco interjected, "What are you going to do about Ron, and his letter?" He stepped closer to her.

She sighed, "Tell him the truth, I suppose. Not much else I can do."

"Do you want to get back together with him?" He continued, finding his control powerless against his own curiosity.

Hermione shrugged, offering a half smile. "That's nothing you need to concern yourself with, Malfoy."

She pushed the door open, getting one foot over the threshold before she felt her arm pull and her body jerk back to face the tall blond.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he starts, his grip loose but steady on her arm, "What if you don't tell him the truth? What if you, _we_, let people think that we _are_ dating?" He paused, "For a little while at least, and not just Ron, I mean everyone."

"What are you on about?" She muttered, still standing in the doorway but unwilling to break away from grasp. Too intrigued.

Draco had thought very carefully about this on the walk over to her flat. Astoria had gone crazy when she'd heard about Hermione and him kissing. She'd sent him several owls and had even demanded to know what exactly he thought he was doing.

He didn't care for the way she'd so cruelly ended their relationship and had his mindset on making her rue the day she'd damaged his reputation. She'd certainly damaged more than just his reputation, but of course he wasn't willing to admit that; not even to himself.

Instead, he would settle for simple revenge. She'd had a cow over Hermione and him sharing a kiss. Just imagine how she'd react if she heard Hermione and he were in a relationship. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up, especially since he now knew Granger didn't _actually_ care for him.

Supposedly.

At Hermione's pointed look, he shrugged evasively, "Let's just say it could be of some use to me. It might be good for you too; make Weasley suffer a bit."

She tried not to watch his lips as he spoke, "So you just want to use me as your pawn, then?"

"Ah, Granger. See, _you_ used _me_ as your pawn first." He leaned closer to her; their faces so close he could feel her breath. "When you attacked me, remember?" His eyes glinted.

"_Attacked_ is a stretch."

There was movement from behind the half-open door to the flat, and Ginny poked her head out, fully swinging the door open in the process.

"Hermione, that you?" She asked.

Hermione locked eyes with Draco for a brief moment following Ginny's appearance before his lips were on hers.

She tasted the firewhiskey on his breath, felt one hand at her waist and the other tangled in her curls as he pressed her against the wall. His tongue slid along hers, but the rush of the kiss ended as quickly as it had started, and he pulled away from her.

Draco dragged his mouth down with his fingers, then he nodded to her and to Ginny before he turned and briskly walked down the hall.

"How long have _you two_ been hanging out?" Ginny said, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Hermione pushed past her, ignoring the arrogant look on her friend's face as well as the mocking question.

* * *

_We need to talk._

It was the third owl Ron sent her that evening, but it was no more indicative of his feelings towards the situation than the past two had been.

Hermione groaned, crumpling it up and tossing it in the bin across the room. She dramatically threw herself across her bed and stared up at the ceiling.

She wished she knew what he was thinking, what he could possibly want to say to her. Yet, every time that he had come near her, she'd bolted. It was the most peculiar thing. Deep down she understood that facing him again, especially in regard to the letter, was horrifying because the likelihood of him rejecting her _again_ so soon after their break up was astronomical.

Besides, what would he say about her kissing Malfoy at the match?

It was unnerving, the effect that kiss had had on her. She'd felt how comfortably she fit into the shape of his body. How _easily_ in sync they had been.

Then, later at the bar, she couldn't stop the churning in her stomach every time he looked at her with those dreamy, stormy eyes.

Not to mention how the most recent time he'd kissed her had made her feel. So . . . _alive_. Much more so than she thought possible. She touched the tips of her fingers to her lips instinctively.

_No_, she scolded herself.

There was no way she could ever go there. It was entirely probable that he would hurt her if she got too attached to him, and even a fake relationship couldn't protect her from the possibility of developing real feelings.

It was a brilliant idea, though. If it worked. But there were a lot of contingencies and she was not fond of such things.

She'd have to settle for handling this the old-fashioned way: with loads of chocolate, wine and romantic comedies.

* * *

Hermione pushed her way through the several wizards standing around the atrium, blocking her exit from the fireplace. She was late.

Admittedly, she was _never_ late, so it would be perfectly understandable for her boss to give her a slight reprimand and let her go about her day. But she was Hermione Granger. Disrespecting authority, even disrespecting schedules, was not in her forte.

She'd been up half the night unable to shut her brain off. The insomnia led to her missing the first three alarms she'd set and ultimately resulting in the messy state she was currently functioning at.

Her hair, more unruly than usual, was pulled back into a ponytail, but as she fast-walked through the atrium towards the lifts, she found herself constantly pushing loose curls out of her face.

Hermione was in such a rush to make it to her desk that she'd nearly, _nearly_ missed Ron's figure to her immediate left. She came to a halt, and felt the usual panic at the sight of him set in.

Except, he didn't see her.

He leaned in closely, _very closely_, to a young witch at his side. His freckled palm grazing the small of her back as he tucked his head into the nape of the woman's neck.

Hermione stepped back, shocked.

Her cheeks were hot, her chest heaving dramatically. The sound of her heart pounding felt so loud she wondered why anyone wasn't blatantly staring at her, wondering where the booming, rhythmic sound was coming from.

How dare he. _How dare he_.

He'd broken up with her _less than two weeks ago_, and yet, here he was _snogging_ this witch in the middle of the atrium.

She blinked back tears, consciously resisting the urge to whack him over his thick skull with her briefcase. _The audacity_, she hissed.

Unable to stand the sight of Ron's hand on the witch's arse any longer, Hermione peeled her eyes away and darted for the nearest lift, willing her brain to burn the image from the back of her mind.

She slipped into the lift just as its doors were closing, actively trying to calm her breathing so as not to cause a scene. She'd have to break a few things when she got to her desk, she concluded. To help get her through the work day.

"You alright, Granger? You look like hell." A familiar voice whispered, moving to stand beside her in the relatively sparse lift.

Her eyes settled on Draco's lips for a moment before traipsing up to meet his grey eyes, a look of what seemed to be genuine concern plastered on his face.

_No, I'm perfectly alright. I didn't just have the most hectic, stressful morning. Followed by the fact that my very recently ex-lover was groping a woman in the middle of the bloody atrium. Of course, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?_

She wanted to scream at him. Wanted him to understand. It occurred to her that he actually might. With Astoria.

The warm feeling of betrayal coursed through her veins, and she wished nothing more than for Ron to get a taste of what it felt like to be so humiliated. So _hurt_.

But, of course, she could do just that. Hadn't Malfoy provided her with such a method for revenge?

"Let's do this." She finally said to him.

He crooked one eyebrow at her, she secretly wondered how he did that, and replied, "You sure?"

"Absolutely." She huffed, resolute.

He smirked, then looked away from her with a slight rock from his toes to his heels. He was pleased.

When the lift doors opened to her floor, she stepped forward to exit, a new wave of confidence rolling over her.

Malfoy, on impulse, reached out and smacked her arse. When she gave a small yelp and snapped her neck around to face him, he supplied a smirk and tilted his chin up.

He made eye contact with Potter and Weasley who stood just outside the entrance to their section of the floor and winked at them as Granger scurried past them to her department.

_Game on_, he mused.


	4. Imagine, Part III

_**Imagine, Part III**_

_Rating:_ M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Hinny (Harry x Ginny)

_Summary:_ Part III of the installment.

* * *

**Part III**

* * *

There was a deafening blow of a horn as a boat rolled its way down River Thames; to which many tourists crossing the bridge stopped to pull out their cameras and capture the truly mundane, inconsequential departure of a London tugboat.

Some will claim it was to capture the experience – the _culture_ – of their visit, but that simply wasn't true. Whether they believed it or not.

"Ugh," Draco groaned, "I hate Muggle London."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his dramatic tone, "_You're_ the one who wanted to come up here."

The only reason he even took her to this little spot in the park was because he knew she had absolutely nothing better to do during her lunch break, nor anyone better to spend it with. He'd observed as much the other day when he found her eating her lunch – and reading, though she'd certainly tried to hide that part from him – in the cupboard of the Muggle Artefacts Office. He thoughtthis would be a nice gesture, but hell if he was going to admit that.

He stared off into the foggy haze that had settled over the river, as it so often did this time of year, and took a loud bite of his apple; chewing at a purposefully heightened volume that he knew would irritate her.

"Not like you had anywhere better to go, unless you were planning on spending lunch in the cupboard again?"

Her cheeks turned a deep rouge color, "I have friends I could sit with." She protested, narrowing her eyes at him while picking at her salad. "There's Harry –"

"Someone who isn't attached at the hip to Weasley," he cut in.

She put her fork down and crossed her arms over her chest, looking at up at him with a defensive glare, "I don't see you running to go sit with your friends for lunch."

"I don't have friends here, Granger." He took another bite of his apple, peering down at her. He moved from his position on top of the wooden table to the edge of it, planting his feet on the bench portion. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, so that their eyes were somewhat level. "I don't have friends," he repeated, a teasing grin stretching across his lips, "I have you."

Her breath caught for a moment, but she quickly regained composure and broke away from his luring silvery eyes to focus on stabbing a tomato.

"You don't _have_ me." She corrected.

He slid down onto the bench beside her, "What would you like to call this little arrangement, then?"

"I'm not sure," She responded honestly, chewing at her bottom lip. "We're _not _friends."

He noticed her avoiding his gaze and laughed inwardly, reveling in her obvious determination to not like him. Nevertheless, he continued with his flirtatious banter.

"No, we're not friends, Granger." When she finally glanced over at him, he gave her a devilish smirk, "Friends don't kiss the way we do."

Grimacing, she said, "Speaking of that,"

He stood up and walked over to the edge of the park and chucked the apple as far out into the river as he could manage, watching it disappear into the fog. There would be no satisfactory _plop_ as it landed in the rushing water; especially, not over the noise of the city. He turned back to face Hermione, placing one leg up on the bench and leaned towards her with both arms balancing on the raised knee.

She pulled out a notepad and pen from her bag, then craned her neck to look up at him.

"What's that?" He asked.

"I was thinking," she replied, "It would be a good idea to write down some rules for this . . . relationship of ours. Like a contract."

"Rules?" He frowned. "A contract?"

"Yes."

He let out a low whistle, adjusting his stance so that he now sat directly across from her on the picnic bench, "Wow, you really know how to woo a guy, don't you?"

"I'm not here to woo you, Malfoy. We're doing this to make our ex's immensely jealous, remember? Besides, I think it's important that we're on the same page about certain . . . things."

"What things, Granger?"

"For one, I don't want you to kiss me anymore." She tried to keep her voice as even as possible. Better to not let him know how she really felt about him kissing her.

"_What?_" He exclaimed. He shook his head at her, "No."

"What do you mean, 'No'. This isn't a request."

He cocked his head to the side, raising one brow at her, "You're telling me you didn't like it?"

_It wasn't that. Godric knows it wasn't that,_ she thought to herself. In fact, she actually really _did_ like when he kissed her. Sure, she'd only been with Ron, but she knew that the electrifying, captivating feeling that came over her when Malfoy touched her was rare. She'd heard Ginny complain enough about how disappointing other boys had been before Harry to know that much.

However alive his lips had made her feel recently it didn't negate the fact that it also scared her to death. She'd been too hurt over Ron to let herself get close to another man so soon, especially given the way Draco looked at her. Ron never looked at her like he did – hell, _nobody _had ever looked at her the way he did when he pinned her up against the wall the other night. There was something dark and wanting in his eyes; it was almost as if he . . . _desired_ her.

No, she wasn't willing to risk letting him touch her, much less kiss her. Draco Malfoy was not the kind of man you went and got yourself attached to. She would be asking him to break her heart.

So, she lied.

"No," she answered, pressing her lips together and biting the inside of her cheek, "I didn't like it. In fact, it made me rather uncomfortable."

He leaned back and narrowed his eyes at her, not quite believing her.

"You kissed me first." He reminded her.

"That was different." She began writing the first rule down on the paper before her; she refused to meet his eyes. "This is non-negotiable."

"Fine. No kissing. But no one is going to believe we're in a relationship if I'm not allowed to touch you."

She sighed. He was right, of course.

"What if," she started, "we did other stuff?"

He grinned wickedly at her, "Other stuff, huh?"

She threw a tomato at his face, blushing, "Not _that_. For fuck's sake, Malfoy –"

He was fully grinning now, baring his perfectly white teeth and wiggling a suggestive brow at her. "_Fuck's sake?_ Oh, come on, Granger, now you're just doing it on purpose."

"Never mind," she grumbled, "You're useless."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on –" he composed himself, "Really, though, what other stuff? People _will_ get suspicious if I'm not allowed to touch you, so . . ."

Hermione chewed at her lip again. She was walking a very fine line.

"I'd rather you not kiss me on the mouth or anything invasive like that," – he tried not to wince as she said invasive – "but I suppose kissing on the cheek is all right. Hand-holding, that sort of thing. Minimal PDA, though."

He sighed. She was incorrigible.

"PDA?" He questioned.

"Public Display of Affection," she recited. "You've never heard of that? I would prefer if we didn't do too much of that. Instead, something more like how Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy act. You know, steal looks, light touches, but –"

"_Who_?" he asked, interrupting her nervous ramble.

"Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy?" At his blank stare, she continued. "Pride and Prejudice?" He shook his head at her. "Jane Austen?"

He slammed his palms against the table, "Bloody hell, Granger, no! I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, or who any of those people are."

She pursed her lips, "Well, that's perfectly unacceptable. I can't have my fake boyfriend not knowing who Jane bloody Austen is." She scribbled something below the first rule.

"Second rule: you're watching classic Muggle films with me, seeing as you're so uneducated with them."

"What the hell? No."

"Would you rather I ask you to _read_ classic Muggle novels, then?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, "No. Fine, fine. Films it is. But we can't tell anyone about this."

"About a silly film? What, because it's Muggle-related?" She asked condescendingly.

"No," he clarified, gesturing to the space between them. "About _us_. No one can know this is fake. It would tarnish my reputation,"_ especially since Astoria has already tried to ruin it beyond repair_, he thought, internally.

Hermione nodded, "Agreed. It would be too humiliating for the both of us."

"That includes Ginny and Harry." He added.

"Obviously." She wrote the third rule down. "Anything else?"

He leaned forward and rested his chin on his intertwined fingers. He thought for a moment as he looked into her big, brown eyes. "I could bring you flowers every day, when we meet for lunch."

She blinked, startled, "You'd do that?"

"Sure," he pulled his attention away from her and pretended to inspect his perfectly manicured nail beds, "Astoria always complained that I never got her flowers, so if she hears that I bring them to you? She'll be livid."

Hermione tried to fight the sinking feeling in her stomach as she added it to the growing list.

"Also," he tapped the top of the pad, "You have to accompany me to any social functions my family throws. There will be many, I assure you, and they will not be enjoyable to say the least."

"Then you have to pick me up from my flat every morning and go to work with me," she countered. Then, she paused, narrowing her eyes at him. "What is it that do in the Ministry anyway?"

He blinked at her a few times and gave her an equally narrowed glare, "What is it that you _think_ I do, Granger?"

She pressed her lips together, a bit embarrassed to not know. Though she did recall him walking in on her –

"You work in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, don't you? You saw me in –" She abruptly cut herself off, not wanting to finish the statement and perhaps save herself additional embarrassment.

"You think," he scoffed, "that I work under _Arthur Weasley_? In the most boring department in the Ministry? Really?"

"Well, where _do_ you work, then?"

He stood up to pace beside the table, "I – you –" he stuttered, then quickly regained control of his thoughts. "Did it ever occur to you to ask yourself why I would be at that quidditch match where you so rudely attacked me?"

"No," she shook her head, "and for the last time, I did not _attack_ you."

"Well, it wasn't because I adore the Holyhead Harpies, I can tell you that." He shook his head and stopped pacing. He placed his palms on the edge of the table and leaning down so that their faces were only a breath away. "I work for the League Headquarters. I _have_ to go to those matches."

"Oh," she breathed, intensely aware of how close he was to her, of how intoxicating his cologne was as the scent of sandalwood surrounded her.

"All right," he moved to sit next to her, then took the pad and pen from her grasp, "If I have to show up to your apartment every fucking morning, _you_," – he pointed the end of the pen accusingly at her – "have to go with me to all the quidditch games I have to oversee." He proceeded to add the rule.

"But I _hate_ quidditch!" She protested.

"Well, I dislike Muggle films, so tough luck, sweetheart."

She shoved a forkful of lettuce into her mouth to hide her pout. This arrangement was sounding worse by the minute. _Why had she made this contract, again?_ She wondered.

"There's one more thing," he turned to face her, offering a wayward smile, "you also have to go to the Ministry gala with me."

_The Ministry gala?_ She felt a rush of blood go to her head, leaving her a bit dizzy.

This particular event was one of the most profitable and elegant events that the Ministry ever hosted. It started the year after Voldemort was vanquished, in order to bring some much-needed celebration and light back into the Ministry after he'd left it starved and hollow. It began small, with only half of the departments even contributing, much less attending. But soon, along with the help of The Chosen One's annual attendance, the event soon became one of the most spectacular parties of the year; it remained invite only, extending only to plus-one's of Ministry employees.

"The gala is months away," she pointed out, "do you really think we'll still be doing this whole relationship thing by then?"

"I don't know," he paused. "Let's call it a contingency."

He noticed the frown forming on her face and went on, "Look, there's no way that you would go to the gala unescorted by the man you're supposedly dating. So, if we are still doing this by then, you have to let me escort you."

She met his steady gaze, unable to think of a good enough reason to combat his argument. Finally, she nodded.

He instantly brightened and then turned his attention back to the contract under his palm. He drew up two signature lines, included his, and then passed her the paper and pen. She reluctantly signed, wishing for a moment that she hadn't brought up the notion for a contract and rules.

But when she looked up to meet his silver, sparkling eyes, she swallowed that thought, suddenly thankful for what little distance existed between them. She silently prayed he couldn't hear her heart flutter as his lips twitched into a mischievous smirk.

* * *

Hermione drummed her fingertips on the kitchen island, creating a soft, rhythmic thudding noise against the granite. The word was on the tip of her tongue; she knew what it was they were asking, but she couldn't _quite_ remember its name.

Seven down. Eight letters. Third letter was 'b' –

"Oh!" She gasped, quickly writing in the last word.

There was a high, shrill scream that caused her to startle and drop her quill. She absentmindedly flicked her wand so as to move the kettle off of the hot coils; a teacup and teaspoon came to life at another flick of her wand. The teaspoon took charge, motioning for the kettle, milk and teabag to organize themselves for Hermione's morning tea.

A loud crack erupted in the living room behind Hermione.

"HERMIONE!" Ginny shouted, though she didn't appear to be particularly upset _with _Hermione, more so _at _her.

Her shirt buttons were misaligned with only half of them even buttoned causing the plaid top to fall off one shoulder. Her bare legs were lean and freckled, the pale contrasting nicely with her hair, despite its frazzled, unkempt state. Her knuckles turned a prime white as she clutched tightly onto her boots and pants with one fist, while gripping her wand with the other.

"Ginny? It's nearly half past seven, aren't you supposed to be –"

"At practice in fifteen minutes? MHM." She threw her boots and pants to the side, rushing past Hermione and into her room where she hastily searched for her practice uniform. She came back out with one leg through tight-fitting biker shorts trying to balance as she thrust the other leg into them, "I _told_ Harry, that fucker, I told him! I knew I'd be late, but _no_ he had to be all 'please, Gin, only five more minutes' . . . Ugh!"

She ducked into the room again, then returned with a sports bra on, desperately forcing a shirt over it, all the while mumbling through the fabric about how she would have to suffer extra drills if she was late again.

"Icambewerthih" She said, then gestured wildly to Hermione with the hand that wasn't brushing her teeth. She spit into the sink, then turned to shout at Hermione while wrestling her hair into a tight ponytail, letting the auburn locks tickle the back of her neck. "Fucking Harry Potter. If he makes me late _one more time,_ I'm revoke all blow job privileges . . . for a week!"

Hermione stifled a laugh from the kitchen. She motioned with her wand for the dishes to prepare a quick breakfast for Ginny while the girl tried to _accio_ all of her quidditch gear.

"Blow jobs . . . really, Ginny?" she propped her elbow on the counter and rested her cheek on it, attempting to give the girl a disapproving look but unable to conceal her amusement.

"Yes," Ginny huffed, stuffing a spoonful of _Wizard Crunch_ into her mouth. She put her hand up to cover her mouth, but spoke regardless, "ifihuftasuffrsodothhe!"

Hermione shook her head, "You two are unbelievable. How _often_ do you have sex anyways?"

"Two – no three. Three times."

"A week?" She asked, mouth gaping.

Ginny choked on her cereal, "God, no. A day."

At Hermione's shock, Ginny erupted into a laughing fit and then flicked her wand to levitate the dishes into the sink, leaving them to clean themselves.

"Speaking of sex," Ginny's brow wiggled suggestively at Hermione – who had only just lost the rosy color on her cheeks but found it creeping back up – "how's the ferret in bed? I'm _dying _to know. I bet he's good. He's got the confidence to be good, at least. Oh, so, maybe he's _not_ good. That would explain the ego. Hmm, so would him being good . . ." Her rambling drifted off and she looked upon Hermione with an expecting stare.

Hermione felt a rush of air enter her lungs, drying the back of her mouth, and leaving her speechless. She knew she was supposed to keep up the façade, but how the fuck was she supposed to answer _that_?

Luckily, a knock at the door gave her the perfect excuse to avoid answering Ginny's invasive question.

"Coming!" She shouted, scooting off the barstool and half-jogging to the door. She peered through the keyhole to see a well-groomed platinum head.

She swept open the door, gesturing for Malfoy to enter. "Come in,"

He leaned in close to her face – as if he was going to greet her with a kiss but thought better of it – then brushed his nose against her cheek, whispering in a low, raspy voice, "Morning, Granger."

Before she could even formulate a response, he had already pulled away and directed his attention to her now-much-more-put-together flatmate.

"She-Weasley," he nodded.

"Malfoy," she responded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Hermione was taken aback by her friend's suddenly cold attitude towards the man she had _just_ been gossiping about.

He bit back a tempting snide remark, instead offering, "The Harpies did well last week. You contributed a great amount to the score, too." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, willing himself to appear cool and collected.

She narrowed her gaze at him; never in her life had she imagined this man standing in her kitchen so casually, as if _he_ owned the place and not her. His statement had even seemed sincere as it lacked its usual condescending tone that hinted at an approaching taunt.

Nevertheless, she refused to budge. _Someone_ had to give him reason to fear harming Hermione, should he ever think to do so. She still had no idea what they were even doing around each other so much lately, but that was beside the point. Malfoy was never good news.

"Thanks," she muttered in response but spoke up to add, "What's the deal with you two anyway? How come all of a sudden, you're hanging around Hermione, Malfoy?"

He shrugged, stating in a monotonous, matter-of-fact tone, "I guess you could say I'm her boyfriend."

Hermione erupted into a coughing fit, nearly choking on the tea she was sipping. She patted her chest vigorously, waving off their alarmed expressions. "I'm fine," she croaked, clearing her throat.

Ginny opened her mouth to challenge him, but then noticed the time. "Bloody hell, I'm so screwed." She hiked her bag across her shoulders, checking to make sure she had everything for practice. "_Fuck_."

She searched frantically for a moment, but then decided she was already running far too late. She exhaled loudly, "This is just not my fucking morning. All right, looks like I'll be playing without gloves today." She held out her wand, ready to apparate –

"Here," Malfoy dug deep into his pocket, his entire fist disappearing, and promptly pulled out a pair of quidditch gloves, "Have mine." She opened her mouth to protest, but he waved a dismissive hand towards her, "Listen, She-Weasley, I doubt yours are even up to standards. You've probably had the same pathetic pair of gloves in your family for generations. Just take these, they're my old ones anyway."

Ginny closed her hands around the pair of gloves he thrust into her chest. She glanced down at them; they were in perfect condition and not only that, they were also a _new_, _limited edition_ pair. She actively tried not to gawk.

"Thanks," she said, then added, "You can call me Ginny, if you want." With a wave of her wand she disappeared with a crack.

_She was always the least intolerable Weasel_, he thought to himself.

Draco looked down at Hermione with a wide grin and winked at her, "Progress."

She scowled at him; her lips pressed into a thin line, "Was that an Undetectable Extension charm you used? You work in the Ministry, how on earth –"

He scoffed, cutting her off, "Oh, please, Granger. Don't use that harrowing tone with me." He leaned towards her and lowered his voice despite there being no one else in the flat, "As I recall, _you_ used such a charm on a certain handbag of yours, hm? And you _also_ work in the Ministry, so as I see it . . . what they don't know won't hurt 'em, right?"

She gasped, "You pompous b –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he _tsk_-ed, "That's no way to talk to your _beloved_." He taunted. At her wide-eyed expression, he chuckled. "Lighten up, Granger, it's a _joke_."

"_I knew that_," she retorted.

He only shook his head, "Come on, then. Don't want to be late for work, now do we?"

Hermione sighed and turned towards the door, "All right, let's go."

He lifted one brow at her, "Where are you going?"

"To the Ministry." She responded drily.

"No, I got that much, _thank you_. I suppose I should clarify, _how_ are you proposing we get there?" He said.

"Whitehall," She said, then at the laugh he poorly attempted to cover with a cough, she added, "How else are we supposed to get there?"

"You're telling me," he started, grinning mischievously, "You've been taking the toilet network all this time you've been working there?"

She shifted, uncomfortable at his maniacal grin, "Yes."

"Granger," he shook his head, "You do realize they opened up the floo and apparition networks again, don't you?"

She felt her cheeks burn and knew they were turning a mean, deep shade of red. "But – I thought – after the Battle –"

"Yes, yes." He said, "But last year the Minister renovated the networks so that we wouldn't be forced to use those obscene public toilets. I can't believe you didn't – ah, never mind." He proffered her his arm, "Shall we?"

Feeling embarrassed, she linked her arm in his and held on tight as he apparated them both into the atrium of the Ministry.

"There," he said to her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "Much better than flushing yourself, hm?"

She frowned, "Whatever,"

He looped an arm around her waist, "Does this break that damned rule of yours?"

She unconsciously leaned into his torso, reluctantly shaking her head. He nodded in response, and she swore she noticed to hint of a smile pull at his lips.

* * *

Hermione stretched out under the heavy blanket and sank deeper into the cushions of the sofa; she cradled a new novel – again decidedly _not_ a romance novel as she was too afraid to have romantic notions or expectations floating about her head considering her near constant proximity to Draco – and took a sip of her wine. She let the chilled liquid soothe the back of her throat and was glad to have the flat to herself that night.

She thoroughly enjoyed spending time with Harry and Ginny, but quiet, alone time was much-needed after the long week she'd had.

There was a sudden screech from the balcony. Hermione tore her attention away from the book to see a sleek, black owl perched atop the railing. She begrudgingly stood up and made her way over to the bird; she offered it the back of one hand as she reached for the note attached to its leg with the other.

The owl cooed under her touch, rubbing its jet-black beak against her knuckles and blinking its large, golden eyes at her. She recognized the elegant handwriting as Draco's immediately.

"Ah," she smiled softly at the owl, "That explains why a pretty little pedigree like you showed up at my window, hm?"

The owl chirped encouragingly, as if to say, _of course, who else would I belong to?_

She gave the bird a treat, then slid back into her position on the sofa; she tossed the note on to the coffee table without even bothering to open it. She could afford one night to herself without having to pretend to be in a relationship with him. She deserved it. Although he had been unexpectedly kind to her at work this week, truly holding up his end of the contract, it was exhausting having to pretend to be involved with someone else. To pretend to _be_ someone else.

A small voice in the back of her mind questioned if she was pretending _to_ like him or _not to_ like him. She pushed it aside and reopened her book with renewed focus; intent on steering her thoughts away from his magnetizing touch.

She was on her third glass of wine when there was a thunderous knock at the door. She set her book down on the coffee table and sat up, staring at the door. She was undecided about going to open it – because she knew exactly who would be on the other side, but not what they wanted – but she wasn't given much of a choice when the pounding continued.

It didn't let up until she swung the door open.

She stood in the doorway, "What are you doing here, Draco?"

"Bloody hell, Granger, didn't you get my owl?"

He ignored her exasperated glare – one she typically saved for when Weasley and Potter did something especially idiotic – and strode past her into the flat.

"Yes, I got the owl." She returned to her seat on the sofa, wrapped herself in a blanket, and motioned to the unopened note on the table.

"You didn't even _read_ it?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, so you can read an entire novel about some old hag," – she shoved the history book behind her back at his disdainful comment – "but you can't read a simple note?"

"Didn't have to read it, did I? You showed up anyway," she snapped.

He tried not to wince. "Good thing I did, you look like hell," he gestured to her worn flannel pants and her curls knotted into a messy bun.

"I'm truly flattered," she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest, suddenly aware that she was not wearing a bra.

"You know? I would normally have something snarky to say about that, but we don't have time. Mother is waiting." He stood from his position opposite her and looked around the flat before pointing to her room, "that yours?"

Before she could dissuade him, he was already stalking over to her bedroom. She followed reluctantly. "Draco, what are you –"

He poked his head around the room, then began rummaging through her closet, "Now, what formal dresses do you own? Gowns, that sort of things." He squinted at the clothes before him, then looked back to meet her disapproving gaze. "Nothing, it seems . . ." His voice trailed off as he backed away from the closet to sit at the edge of her bed.

"I don't understand, why would I –"

"For Mother's birthday, she's hosting a ball at the Manor." He explained, and when Hermione tried to interrupt, he went on, "I know, I know, 'why isn't Father throwing it for her?' because he's useless, Granger, and she knows it. So, she throws it herself."

Hermione huffed, "No," she shook her head, "there's absolutely no way I'm going to this with you."

"You have to," he shrugged, conjuring the handwritten set of rules with both of their signatures at the bottom with a quick snap of his fingers, "Contract, remember? You have to accompany me to any and all Malfoy social events."

She glared at the document, mentally kicking herself, "Screw that,"

He flicked his wand and the contract disappeared, then crossed one ankle over his knee, giving her a smirk, "You know, I never pegged myself to be a stickler for the rules while _you_ sit here with that whole 'rules are made to be broken' thing going on, but hey, who knew?"

She put her hand on her hips defiantly and looked as though she was about to protest, but he cut in again, "I _did_ show up every morning for us to arrive at work together, did I not? With coffee, too, and that wasn't even _in_ the contract. Then there was lunch, flo –"

Hermione groaned, "Yes, yes, fine! You held up your end of the deal. But, as you pointed out earlier, I don't own any formal gowns good enough for the occasion, so . . ." she raised her hands in an _oh well_ gesture and imagined that would be that.

She would be wrong. What a Malfoy wanted; a Malfoy got.

He stood, placing less than a breath of space between them. She shifted in response and tried to lean far enough back so that her now hardened nipples wouldn't rest against his chest if she inhaled too deeply.

"I figured as much," he stated, seemingly unbothered by their close proximity. If anything, his smirk only _grew_ as he moved closer to her. "no offense." He added quickly. "That's why I showed up at your flat early, Granger. I'd hoped the owl message would give us a decent head start, but I should've known better." He shrugged, "No matter, I planned for this."

* * *

The sweet scent of peonies mixed with a scent of freshly-cut grass to fill their senses upon arrival. Draco had apparated them into the garden at the back of the Malfoy Manor.

Hermione unlinked arms with him and stepped towards one of the many blooming peonies to take in its sweet aroma. She was highly aware that Draco had not taken her to the front entrance of the Manor. Whether it was by chance or thoughtful planning she wasn't sure, but she found herself immensely relieved to not have to pass through _that_ room of the house.

She traipsed through the artfully placed foliage, following him towards the grand, double staircase made of pristine white stone. Atop the landing where both staircases met, stood Narcissa Malfoy; she looked as elegant and regal as Hermione remembered.

Suddenly she felt impossibly small as they approached her; Draco had allowed her the curtesy of a quick shower and for her to change out of her pajamas as well, but she still felt incredibly insecure in her jeans and jumper.

"Mother," Draco greeted, giving her a kiss on either side of her porcelain face.

"Draco," she purred, grasping him by his shoulders, and although he stood much taller than her, the act alone made her appear considerably above him.

"Mother," Draco held out a hand to Hermione, which she took with a trembling grasp to follow him up the last three steps, "You remember Hermione Granger,"

Hermione highly doubted the woman did know who she was, but she seemed not to mind the suggestion and instantly turned to face Hermione with a soft smile.

"Miss. Granger," Narcissa said, shaking the hand that her son wasn't clinging to, "It's a pleasure."

"The –" The back of Hermione's throat had gone dry. She quickly cleared her throat with a soft cough and continued, "The pleasure is all mine."

At the girl's forced smile, Narcissa turned her gaze back to her son. The girl's manners were not _quite _up to her par, but they were there so she couldn't complain too much. She would have to work on that, of course.

"My dear," She glanced back at Hermione, "Draco tells me you're in need of a gown for this evening?"

"Yes," Hermione croaked.

She clasped her hands together, pressing her lips into a wayward smile, "Well, that's just as well. I have so many, you know, and I have no daughters to share them with, you see." She gave Hermione a deliberate look-over, to which the girl shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze, "I'm quite certain I have just the thing for you," She nodded towards the double doors behind her, "Now, run along inside and I'll be right there to show you the way. I just need a word with my Draco."

Hermione nodded faintly to the clear demand. She gave a worried smile to Draco as she passed between him and his mother and let herself into the manor. She came upon a hall of Victorian era paintings of past Malfoy's and proceeded to read the descriptions below until Narcissa would come to lead her away.

"Draco," Narcissa breathed.

"Mother," he said, "Don't."

"What?" She asked innocently, but her brows furrowed, and her eyes narrowed in a warning look.

"Be nice to her."

Narcissa shot him a sullen glare, "I don't appreciate you questioning my manners, Draco. It's quite inappropriate. I am well equipped on how to treat a guest and I certainly don't need _you _to remind me to do so."

He sighed, "I know that, Mother, I just meant –" he ran a shaky hand through his hair, took a moment to catch his train of thought, and then continued. "I only meant be nice to _her_. I know Father won't be pleased, but after what Bella did, I don't want any more harm to come to her under this roof."

Narcissa's gaze softened; she reached a hand out to cup her son's cheek.

"You must be very fond of this one," she murmured.

Draco pulled away from her touch and stepped away towards the doors, "I have to get ready," he stated, then turned towards her and added, "Help her. I mean it."

"Darling, trust me, I will." Narcissa followed him and swept into the house while he held the door for her. Upon closer inspection of the Miss. Granger's appearance, she added, "She needs it, it seems."

Narcissa heard Draco groan and mutter something unintelligible under his breath but chose to ignore it and, instead, lead the curious young girl up to her dressing room.

* * *

Hermione pressed her palms firmly against her abdomen, finding it surprisingly easy to inhale and exhale deeply despite the unreasonably tight fit around her ribcage. She turned in the floor-length mirror, attempting to view the gown from every angle.

She'd never imagined she could look so elegant; she found it difficult to tear her gaze away from her own reflection.

The satin, emerald ballgown extended out from her waist to create an illusion of a petite waist while cascading towards the floor with a voluminous skirt and long train. The satin shone as she twirled under the twinkling lights in Narcissa's dressing room. Hermione even tried to raise her arms as high as they would go to test any further restrictions she may have in the dress. After having just ruled out the possibility of suffocation. To her surprise, she was able to reach the back of her perfect chignon with her fingertips despite the short, off-shoulder cuffs wrapped snugly beneath the curve of her shoulders.

"You'll find that dress is quite comfortable," Narcissa chimed, coming into view of the reflection.

Hermione turned to face her, "How?"

The woman shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, "Charmed, of course." She stepped forward to gently pull at the fabric at Hermione's chest; it didn't budge. "I told you that extra padding would do wonders, did I not?"

She turned the girl around to direct her attention to her heightened, and very noticeable, breasts. Even despite Hermione's reservations to the neckline of the gown, she could not disagree with the woman. She _did _look wonderful.

"Thank you," Hermione breathed, then twirled again despite herself, "I don't understand – I mean – I don't wish to offend you but –"

"But what, Miss. Granger?" Narcissa cut in; she was not fond of babbling and would not tolerate it, no matter how lovely or how timid the speaker seemed.

"Why are you being so nice to me? So generous?"

Narcissa appreciated the candor; she put a finger to her lips and glanced over the masterpiece she'd created in such a short time. She moved beside the girl and looked upon their reflection in the mirror.

"You know," she adjusted her slender, black gown and continued on without meeting the girl's curious eyes, "I wore that gown when I first met Lucius' parents."

Hermione, unsure of what to take from the personal insight, only nodded and pressed her painted red lips together. She admired herself in her reflection one last time before Narcissa took her arm in her own and led her out of the room.

As she opened the double doors she'd entered only earlier that evening, she caught sight of a familiar blond leaning against the railing and overlooking the gardens below. When he turned to face the sound of the soft thud as the doors shut behind her, Hermione felt all of the air rush out of her lungs. She felt a wave of dizziness come over her as he sauntered towards them.

"You look –" the words caught on his tongue – _you look lovely, no gorgeous, no . . . breathtaking and painfully beautiful _– and he visibly swallowed in attempt to regain his thoughts. "You look good, Granger." He said flatly, though he was sure the heat creeping up on his face gave away his true feelings.

He silent cursed himself for acting like such a fool, and quickly recovered his composure. "Of course, you would wear a colored gown to a black-attire-only ball." He shot a smirk at his mother.

"_What?_" Hermione gaped, violently turning to face Narcissa with wide eyes.

Narcissa, with a brush of her black-gloved arm, put a finger to her cheek and replied innocently, "Oh dear, it must have slipped my mind." She shrugged and nudged Hermione into Draco's chest, "Oh well, too late now. Off you two go, I have to track down Lucius."

She turned swiftly and reentered the Mansion, leaving a blushing Hermione in Draco's embrace.

_What a Malfoy wanted; a Malfoy got._

"Shall we?"

Hermione broke out of her internal reverie to see Draco extending his arm to her; she linked her arm in his and picked up the front of her enormous skirt with the other, carefully descending the staircase.

She looked over the crowd mulling in the gardens and noticed, with horror, that everyone aside from her was clad in black, just as Draco had promised. She craned her neck to see that a smirk had formed on his lips as he surveyed the crowd.

He looked devilishly handsome in his dress robes and it took her great effort to look away from his perfectly combed hair and focus on not tripping as they approached the bottom of the winding staircase.

He led her directly into the outdoor entrance to the ballroom and she couldn't help but gape at the high ceilings that were artfully painted with Renaissance depictions; an intimidatingly large chandelier fell from the center nave and hung high above the mirrored floor.

She tapped a heel against the glass and was shocked to see her looming face reflecting back at her. Her head snapped up to see an amusing grin on his face.

"You grew up here?" She asked incredulously.

He shrugged and slipped his bare hand around her petite waist, pulling her in close to him. She could smell the sandalwood and pine of his cologne and nearly sank into his chest; desperate to engulf herself in the intoxicating aroma that she'd so often come to associate with him.

"You get used to it," he whispered in her ear.

She scoffed, avoiding his silvery gaze, "_You_ would say that."

He pressed his lips together in a tight smile, then tapped the mirrored floor with his dress shoes, "You know," he said, fully aware of her never-ending thirst for knowledge, "it's enchanted. Father prefers the simple mirror effect, but Mother tends to play around with it a bit more."

Hermione glanced down again, meeting his mischievous grin in the reflected glass, "You're just messing with me, aren't you?" she narrowed her eyes at him; the real him, not the reflected one.

His teasing grin did not waver; he shrugged nonchalantly, then pulled her farther into the room, passing under the impressive chandelier and smiling inwardly as she craned her neck to admire it.

He glanced around as the remaining guests that had been wandering through the gardens began to file into the ballroom, and looked down at her curious expression, "You think you can survive without me for a few moments? I'm going to go track down some drinks for us."

She nodded hesitantly at first, but then nodded again with a sudden wave of confidence, as if remembering who she was. "Yes, yes, go on. I'll be fine."

He nodded curtly and strode off across the open floor to the other side of the room. She bit her lip absentmindedly.

_You may be alone in a foreign house, at a foreign party, wearing an entirely foreign gown, and surrounded by an infinite number of former – possibly formed, that remains undecided – enemies, but for fuck's sake Hermione you are a courageous Gryffindor and you'll be damned if – _

Her internal monologue was cut short by the sudden presence of two very familiar faces.

"Daph," the younger girl said – whom Hermione now recognized as Astoria from the tabloids on her and Draco's split – with a malicious tone, "Look what the cat dragged in."

Daphne smiled sweetly, but venom dripped from her rosy lips, "_Hermione Granger_,"

She twisted her arms behind her back, digging her nails into her palms where the sisters couldn't see. She nodded politely to them, "It's been a while."

"Quite." Astoria clipped, then taking a sip of her champagne, continued, "Isn't it _quite_ rude to show up to a _very clearly stated_ all-black event in a green dress? Where did you find this –" her throat caught on the word ugly, truly not able to say it, "_thing_."

Hermione held her chin up, "It's Narcissa's actually."

Daphne choked on her champagne. Astoria, baffled, spat out, "Liar!"

Hermione pretended to pout, twirling her enormous skirt around her, "Next time I see her, I'll be sure to mention your distaste for her wardrobe," she said, meeting the other girl's murderous stare with a forced smile.

* * *

Draco spotted Theo and Blaise shortly after procuring two tall flutes of champagne for he and Hermione. He saddled up next to them and smirked, "Boys,"

"Oi, Malfoy!" Blaise said excitedly.

"Can't believe you actually came," Theo raised his own glass to Draco and took a sip.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Right, as if Mother would let me miss her birthday celebration."

Theo chuckled, "Yeah, you're fucking right. She'd skin you alive."

"Starting with your balls!" Blaise chimed in.

Draco narrowly missed a fist to his groin with a quick maneuver away from Blaise, and he even managed not to spill the champagne in his hands.

"On the other hand, you might end up skinned alive for showing up anyway," Theo added, "if Astoria manages to get her hands on you, you're done for, mate."

"Fuck, she's here?" Draco groaned.

"Of course. You think just because she broke your itty-bitty little heart that your parents won't invite her family to their events anymore? Please," Theo scoffed.

He shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh, "Wishful thinking."

"Tough luck," Theo said. "Heard you have a new girlfriend anyway, no need to worry about Astoria, then, hm?"

"Or, _more_ need to worry about her." Blaise corrected with a cocked brow.

"Who is it, anyway? This new girl of yours."

"Don't worry about it, Nott." Draco snapped.

"Ah, you worried I'll steal her from you?" At Draco's pointed look, he laughed and raised both brows at Draco mischievously, "Can't promise I won't."

"Fuck off,"

"Fine, don't tell us. It's only a matter of time before –"

"Bloody hell," Blaise interrupted. "We don't need Draco to tell us who it is. Astoria's already found her for us," He nodded towards the other side of the ballroom where Astoria and Daphne Greengrass approached Hermione Granger.

"Fuck," Draco muttered, "That can't be good."

He took off towards the presumably helpless bookworm with Theo and Blaise in tow.

"Liar!" He heard Astoria shout; the shrill tone in her voice alerting him to her predictably murderous state. Typically, when he was on the receiving end of this tone of hers, it usually meant that he'd royally fucked up.

To his surprise, Hermione _twirled_ in front of his seething ex and offered her a fake pout.

"Next time I see her," Hermione said sweetly, though Draco could sense the menacing undertone in her voice, "I'll be sure to mention your distaste for her wardrobe."

He nearly recoiled at the comment. Girl had fucking _balls_, he remarked, internally.

"Daphne!" Theo interjected with feigned enthusiasm, slipping an arm around her waist and steering her towards the dance floor. He shot Draco a wink before turning his attention the beautiful brunette on his arm, "Now, how is . . ."

Draco stopped listening as Theo and Daphne went out of hearing range, and instead focused on Blaise attempting to wrangle Astoria away from within reach of Hermione. She followed him reluctantly, but not before shooting daggered looks over her shoulder at both he and Hermione.

Draco glared back, hiding a shudder at the close call.

When only he and Hermione remained, he looked over at her with wide eyes and raised brows, as if to say _holy shit girl, what the hell just happened?_

Her rouge lips formed a soft, triumphant smile; she took one of the glasses from his grip and shrugged. She returned his shocked expression with an amusing one and retorted, "What?"

He shook his head and took a long swig of champagne, emptying half of the glass, "Nothing." He made a mental note that, despite her apparent independence, he would not leave her side for the remainder of the evening.

A little while later, both were arguably much more comfortable amidst the stares and whispers of the other guests in the ballroom. Perhaps it had to do with their growing kinship and mutual respect for one another, or perhaps it was simply the three glasses of champagne they'd each consumed in the past half hour.

"I'm just saying," Hermione protested, "If _you_ were the enslaved creature doting on an inconsiderate family, wouldn't you want more rights? Think of it: better hours, food, clothing –"

Draco snorted into the lip of his glass, "Well, I'm not an enslaved creature, so –"

"Oh, what, you don't care? That's repugnant privilege speaking!"

"Granger, I don't know how to tell you this but –"

He was promptly cut off by a trilling bell echoing through the ballroom. When all of the chatter had ceased, the voice of Lucius Malfoy boomed from the other side of the room; his wand poking into the side of his neck.

"THANK YOU." He greeted, and then lowered his voice at the returned silence, though its volume did not change in the slightest. "I want to thank you all for coming –"

"Oh, _fuck_." Draco muttered, motioning to Hermione to rise from her seat and follow him.

"– it's been a privilege hosting you all for my wonderful wife's birthday celebration –"

"We have to go, _now_." He cupped her elbow and dragged her alongside him.

"– We hope you have enjoyed yourselves so far and would like to start off tonight's festivities –"

"Where are we _going_?" Hermione hissed as Draco practically sprinted to the other side of the room, towards where the booming voice echoed from, with his grip on her forearm unrelenting. "What the –"

"– with the host family leading the first dance before the floor opens up to all of you." Lucius concluded.

She halted; forcing the tall blond to turn and meet her disapproving look.

"What does he mean –"

But she was cut off by Narcissa and Lucius approaching them, hand in hand, and gesturing for them to follow. Lucius glided onto the mirrored floor and settled Narcissa and himself below the looming chandelier. She waved her wand outward around the ballroom; at once, the lighting in the room dimmed and the previously mirrored floor evolved into a dark, starry night sky.

Draco met her glare with a cocky grin, "Did I forget to mention we have to lead the first dance?"

"You _bloody _–" but she choked on her own words, startling aware that every pair of eyes had wandered from the Malfoy's in the center of the ballroom, to the wondrous floor beneath their feet, and finally settled on her and Draco expectedly.

He held out his arm to her, as he so often did that night, and gave her a more sincere smile, "Granger?"

She let out a deep sigh, plastered a smile on her red lips, and linked her arm in his. She let him lead her to the middle of the dancefloor. The twinkle of lights among the blackened nothingness beneath her feet held her attention as she avoided meeting the blatant stares of the onlooking crowd.

A streak of light skirting across the floor captivated her gaze for a brief moment before it was gone, and then she looked up to meet a pair of darkened, grey eyes watching her with sparked interest.

"Told you the floor was enchanted," He said.

Then, he bent his upper body towards her in a swooping, somewhat dramatic, bow and lifted his head to smirk at her, "Granger."

She suppressed a giggle and offered a deep curtsy, bowing her head as she shot back an equally teasing, "Malfoy."

The melody started up with a slow, rhythmic repetition of piano keys. His hand found the small of her back and pulled her in close to him. She inhaled the familiar scent of sandalwood and exhaled the anxiety she hadn't realized she had been clinging onto. She placed her palm on his chest and felt the quickened heartbeat she was certain matched her own.

As the second count of repetitive keys sounded through airy room, he began to lead her through the waltz. He was an excellent dancer, and an extraordinary leader. In no time, Hermione felt herself predicting the following steps and dancing across the starry floor with more confidence.

It seemed had Draco received assurances of her comfortability and decided to put it to the test. He pulled away from her, leaving only their interwoven hands together and led her away from the center of the room, towards one edge of the crowd.

He directed her along its border; she swung her other arm and her lengthy skirt out towards the crowd, never breaking contact with his stormy eyes.

_Feeling brave, aren't we?_ They appeared to be saying.

To which she silently conveyed in response, _is that all you've got?_

He registered the cocky grin on her face and swiftly pulled her in to him, twirling her under his raised arm; their hands remaining entwined. She felt her heart leap as he pulled her into his chest again and pulled her in circles around the room.

Neither had noticed that Narcissa had pulled Lucius aside, leaving them the entirety of the dance floor with the endless night sky below. The sonata carried on and, as it picked up cadence, the two picked up momentum.

Sensing the heightened tempo of the song, Draco drew Hermione in close to him again from where she twirled a step away, and nearly tripped on her train. With one swift movement, he gripped the small of her back and dipped her, feeling his mouth dry at her exhilarated gasp.

When she rose to press her chest against his in an agonizingly slow fashion, he couldn't help but wonder how he'd never seen it before. How he'd never seen _her_ before. Her radiance. Her beauty. Her wit.

With one final, sweeping gesture, he lifted her at the peak of her ascend and twirled with her in a circle; her hip resting atop his and her feet dangling above the twinkling stars in the floor.

She leaned into his touch, trusting that he wouldn't drop her, and rested her forehead against his. She closed her eyes and let the music and the electrifying touch of his skin on hers take incapsulate her senses.

The piano keys faded to silence and the two heaved, sweat forming on their temples and necks. The crowd began to applaud which caused Hermione to instantly blush, remembering where she was. And who she was surrounded by.

He noticed her unease and, while the rest of the guest made their way onto the dance floor as the music picked back up, led her out into the gardens.

"Ah, fresh air." He mused.

She nodded and gave a tired smile; she was still trying to control her gasping breaths so as not to cause any indecency with her chest rising up and down so drastically.

"What do you say we take a walk through Mother's garden?" He suggested, "Leave the bewitched floor to the others for a bit."

"All right," she replied brightly.

Her small fists closed around the front of her dress; she cast a quick spell so as not to dirty the gown or the heels before following him onto the soft earth.

He tucked his hands into his pockets and led her through the winding maze of hedges and flower bushes.

"You're quite an impressive dancer." She told him.

He glanced sideways at her, "Thank you. Mother insisted I take lessons," he paused, imitating Narcissa's demeanor, "'One is not a gentleman, Draco, if one does not know how to dance _properly'_."

Hermione laughed, "You sound just like her."

"I can do Father, too." He winked.

"Please don't." She grimaced, to which he chuckled.

"Well, I certainly think you impressed them."

She felt her cheeks warm, "Really?"

He nodded, giving her a knowing look, "Mother doesn't lend her clothes out to just anybody."

"But didn't you bring me here for her to –"

"Well, yes. But I didn't think she'd _actually_ give you one of her gowns. I anticipated that she'd at least be helpful in procuring a gown for you, not fit you with one of her own."

She baffled, "You are unbelievable, Malfoy."

He lifted his shoulders and gave her a quick wink, "I know." He paused to guide her through a narrow passage between hedges. "I still can't believe she gave you that one."

Hermione's eyes flickered down at the emerald, satin ballgown. _You know, I wore that gown when I first met Lucius' parents_. She peered up to try and assess how much Draco truly knew about the gown, but he didn't meet her gaze.

Ever curious, she decided to prompt him, "What's wrong with this gown? I think it's lovely."

He didn't hesitate, "Oh, it is. Especially on you." Then, as if realizing he'd said that aloud, he quickly added, "I simply meant I'm surprised she didn't find a black dress for you."

She clung to the deep, rich green dress in her hands and deflated slightly at his correction. "I think she did that on purpose." At his pointed look, she lifted her skirt emphatically, "The green, I mean."

"Oh, I have no doubt that she did. Whatever her plan was . . ." His voice trailed off.

They strolled through the gardens in silence for a moment before he spoke up again, with renewed energy. "Holy shit! I nearly forgot about Astoria."

Hermione, not entirely sure of what he meant by that but unable to hide the hint of jealousy in her voice, quipped, "What about Astoria?"

Draco, seemingly ignorant to her tone, went on, "You!" He let out an incredulous fit of laughter. "When you _twirled_ in front of her. Then, threatened to tell _my mother_? Fuck, I almost died."

She immediately felt the spiteful tingling at the nape of her neck disappear. "Oh," She grinned, giving him a sideways glance, "That was fun."

"No," He corrected, "That was hysterical. I mean, I was terrified. But _you_," he shook his head at her, though he wore an approving smile, "you held your own swimmingly. Good for you, Granger."

"Thank you," She replied softly, daring to meet his sparkling gaze.

Then, noticing his exuberant attitude, decided – against what could only have been a form of a reflexive defense mechanism – to add, "Careful, Malfoy. Keep talking like that and someone will surely think you _actually _dolike me."

She watched, with instant regret, as the smile spread widely across his lips faded to a thinly pressed line.

He looked down at her, with stormy grey eyes, and shook his head once, "Doubtful," he said drily.

But, despite his monotonous reply, Draco felt something deflate deep inside of him. It was the moment, he knew, he was utterly and impossibly fucked.


	5. Imagine, Part IV

_**Imagine, Part IV**_

_Rating:_ M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Hinny (Harry x Ginny)

_Summary:_ Part IV, the final installment.

* * *

**Part IV**

* * *

The soft, pleasant voice of Glenda Chittock carried through the flat as it typically did weekday mornings. She was currently giving a lengthy report of the current gossip in the wizarding world.

Draco tended to tune her out and patiently wait for the regular programming to come back; he enjoyed listening to music while he got ready for work in the morning. He didn't even mind that played music by Muggle band's – his favorite was Coldplay, not that he would ever admit it – occasionally.

"_. . . Well folks, there you have it! That is one way to avoid having to eat your mother-in-law's awful pudding. Ta, thank you Emily for that wonderful tip. Next up, has the devil finally repent and seen the light? Or, has the angel finally given in to temptations? Stay tuned after this song for the newest dish on Draco Malfoy, devil in disguise, and Hermione Granger, angelic hero . . ." _

The woman's voice faded expertly into a popular song by the Weird Sisters and Draco promptly flicked his wand to shut it off. He was no longer in the mood for music.

He tightened his navy tie and slipped a hasty cushioning charm into his new leather shoes before putting them on and heading into the kitchen. He set the kettle on a burner and pulled two single-use coffee cups from the cabinet.

Two spoons of sugar and milk – more milk than any one should have in one cup of coffee – were added to one of the cups. In the other, a packet of Earl Grey. When the kettle whistled, Draco added the boiling water to both cups.

This was his morning routine and he'd finally gotten it down to a science; now it only took him three minutes to prepare instead of the original ten it took weeks ago. When he'd first made the coffee for her.

"_You look like hell, Granger," He said when she opened the door to her flat to let him in. _

_She raised her hands to rub the tips of her fingers under her eyes, then to massage her temples. She sighed, "I know."_

"_What, no quippy response?"_

_She shook her head, "I haven't been getting enough sleep lately. I'm exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, that I can't even conjure a witty response for you."_

_The next morning, he showed up with a cup of coffee for her. _

"_For me?"_

"_Obviously," he rolled his eyes, then took a sip from his own cup before replying. "Like I said, you look like hell. Can't have my shiny, new girlfriend looking miserable next to me, now can I?"_

_She took a tentative sip. Her eyes widened and she looked at him, shocked. "This is actually really good."_

"_Oh, shut up and finish it, will you?" _

_Instead of giving him any more lip, she smiled and drank the rest of the coffee in a euphoric silence. When she was done, she looked up at him with her big brown eyes and batted her lashes emphatically._

_He groaned, "What, Granger?"_

"_What do I have to do to get you to bring me another one of those tomorrow?" She pleaded._

_He smirked at her, "What are you offering?"_

_She swatted him with her palm, then linked her arm in hers, ready to apparate to work. _

Nevertheless, he found himself bringing her another cup the following day . . . and the day after that, and so on.

Now, he mixed his expertly-made coffee – just the way she liked it – and then set the milk back in his fridge. He didn't like milk, honestly didn't even use it for anything else, but he still bought it every week so that he could make her coffee with the absurd amount she was so fond of.

Gently holding his wand between his teeth and two scalding cups in each of his hands, he maneuvered his way through the apparition that brought him outside the front door of her flat as it did every weekday morning.

Again, swishing the wand from between his bite, he levitated both cups so that he could free his hands. He placed the wand in his back pocket with one while he knocked on her door with the other.

She swung the door open forcefully and reached for the coffee that levitated towards her, "Thank goodness!" She sipped eagerly, letting out a soft moan as the warm liquid caressed her throat. "Godric, that's good."

With a playful smile, she moved aside and let him into the flat.

"Did you hear the Witching Hour this morning?" He asked, settling into one of her kitchen barstools. She sat next to him.

"No, anything good?"

He shrugged, "The usual bullshit mostly, but I did catch her mentioning us at the end of it."

"Of course," Hermione pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes. "Was it as horribly dramatic as I imagine it would be?"

"Worse," he assured her. "Apparently, I'm the devil in disguise. Tempting you with my evil ways." He wiggled his brows at her.

She nodded her head in several small motions, thinking it over. She took a sip of her coffee, gripping it between her hands, "I see it."

He shrugged, "It's overdone. So unoriginal."

"What was I then, some lonely maiden so desperate for love she settled for the devil?" She said drily.

"Something like that," he winked. "they seem to think you may have rubbed your heroic tendencies off on me."

Hermione shook her head and mumbled absurdities. She placed her empty coffee cup on the counter and reached for the _Daily Prophet_ in front of her. She had one word left on the crossword puzzle for that day.

Draco leaned over, craning his neck to see which one she was working on. Twenty-three across. He nodded and retreated back to his original position with a smirk on his face. That had been his last word to solve, too. He started doing the daily crosswords – after she'd held him up from heading to work a few mornings in a row as she tried to finish them – out of curiosity for why she was so intent on doing them every morning. Now, he could relate.

She tapped her pencil against the granite nervously. A million combinations ran threw her head over the next minute or so. Draco quietly finished his tea; she often finished the crosswords before he even showed up, but sometimes it took her a bit longer. Luckily, he'd gotten in the habit of waiting patiently.

"Lacewing _flies_!" She exclaimed, then hurriedly wrote it in.

She turned to grin at him, "I knew it had to be a lacewing fly,"

"Mhmm," Draco nodded in agreement. _But they specifically wanted the plural version_, he thought.

"But they _specifically _wanted the plural version," She continued.

_Because the recipe calls for 21 of them, presumably._

"I should've known, I mean, the potion does require several of them. But it's a complicated potion, and I didn't think this ingredient would be what the crossword was referring to,"

_Because it's not on the Restricted Register._

"Because it's on the Restricted Register!"

_Which is odd that the Ministry would let them publish this. _

"You know, I also thought it might be another restricted ingredient from the potion. Because they both have a 'G'."

_Boomslang skin._

"Boomslang skin," she scoffed.

_Not possible though, because it's the eighth letter in that puzzle and that one has it as its ninth._

"Then, I recounted the letters, and that wasn't right." She shook her head, "I can't believe it took me that long to convince myself lacewing fly _was_ correct, it just needed to be plural."

His lips twitched up into a knowing smile, "Who knew?" He stood and held out his arm for her, "Ready?"

She stood up from the barstool and grabbed her coat, "Ready."

They disappeared from her flat with a crack.

* * *

Hermione had the uneasy feeling that someone was standing much too close to her as she paid for her sweets; when she glanced over her shoulder, she discovered there were two people standing directly behind her.

"You aren't seriously going to eat those are you? They're terrible for you and certainly not going to help you long term, no matter how enviably thin you may currently be." One of the women reprimanded.

Hermione felt her throat dry, caught off guard. Luckily, the other woman, far more effortlessly beautiful than Hermione could ever wish to accomplish. Her golden hair cascading in loose, pleasing waves over her shoulders causing Hermione to be subconsciously smooth her own frizzy curls into submission.

"Hush, Pansy!" She swatted the dark-haired girl with a scowl on her face, then turned to face Hermione with a sideways smile. "Don't mind her. You remember us from school, don't you, Hermione?"

She did. Daphne Greengrass, the school's sweetheart and one of the aristocrats that spent her school years in Draco's presence. Similarly, Pansy Parkinson, had also spent her childhood at Draco's side. From what Hermione knew now, having spent a decent amount of her own time at his side the past month, she was his best friend aside from Theo Nott.

"Yes," she squeaked. "Hi."

"Atrocious manners," Pansy sighed, "We'll have to work on that."

"Wh-what?" She blinked.

"We heard you'll be attending brunch with Narcissa tomorrow," Daphne offered in explanation, leading Hermione out of the sweet shop and into the bustling street of Diagon.

She wondered how either of them knew of her plans tomorrow seeing as she'd only just agreed to them herself yesterday. Draco had told her Narcissa insisted on spending more quality time with Hermione since she met her at their ball.

"Draco wasn't concerned in the slightest of your appearance, he assured us that you'd be able to hold your own." Daphne continued.

"But obviously he overestimated you." Pansy added. "It's quite clear you will most definitely be needing our help. There's no way you're going to win Narcissa's affections on your own." She gave Hermione a once over, her eyes not hiding the judgement of Hermione's cardigan, shift dress that did nothing to help her shape, and old flats.

"No worries," Daphne beamed. "We're happy to help."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Why are you helping me? You were so mean to me not even a month ago?"

Daphne's smile faltered momentarily, "I apologize about that. My sister can be quite dramatic, and I thought it was my sisterly obligation to defend her, you see. But, after talking with Draco, I've come to realize it was actually Astoria who had been the one to cause harm in their relationship." She shook her head. "I love her, truly I do, but she can be a bit manipulative sometimes."

"All the time," Pansy amended.

"And what about you, then?" Hermione directed towards Pansy.

"Oh, I don't care about you either way." She replied; her chin angled upwards. "I care about Draco. If he wants to have you on his arm, for whatever idiotic reason, I can't let you embarrass him in front of Narcissa. She may have been kind to you at the ball, lending you her dress and all, but that doesn't mean she will like you or respect you unless you earn it." She shrugged. "It will be quite a feat if Daphne and I can pull it off in the next twenty-four hours."

"Yes! We have lots of shopping to do Hermione," Daphne said. "I'm imagining you in something. . . periwinkle? Yes, I think that would look nicely on you, with your dark curls. Certainly, an A-line dress. Short, but not too short. . ." She trailed off, leading the way towards a small boutique Hermione had never stepped in before that morning.

She bit the inside of her cheek, unsure of how to handle this situation. It was odd, having these girls who'd never said one kind word to her in all her life, now suddenly at her side and helping her pick out posh clothing and providing her with ample amounts of makeup and tips for taming her wild curls.

But it felt _nice_. She had to admit. Besides, she did want Draco's mother to like her. It was one of her vices, she supposed, wanting to please any member of authority.

* * *

"Your family has way too many social events," Hermione commented as they weaved through the winding garden hedges.

"I warned you," Draco replied nonchalantly.

"Yes, but I didn't realize there would be _this_ _many _and with so many rules and," she paused and huffed. "It's all so overwhelming."

He stopped abruptly, causing her to nearly walk into him. He turned slowly to face her, "If this is too much. . ." There was a slight frown forming on the edges of his mouth, and from what Hermione could tell, during her attempt at categorizing his micro facial expressions over the past month, this meant he was being genuine about his sentiment. He was trying to make her feel better.

"No, no," she shook her head in dismissal. "It's fine."

She squirmed under his intent gaze, then pretended to brush nonexistent dust off of the front of her lilac dress. Turns out Daphne had not settled on periwinkle as she so intended to do, but instead chose this dainty, feminine piece. It was tight around her torso but fanned out into a double layer of flowing skirts that stopped mid-thigh. The material was breathable and comfortable to a point where Hermione had hardly put up any fight in the boutique when she was forced to try it on and parade outside of the dressing room for their approval. Combined with posh nude heeled sandals, and she felt like quite the midsummer's dream.

"Well," Draco finally said, "We still have tomorrow night, right?"

Ah, yes. They had finally gotten around to arranging their schedules so that they could watch her favorite classic films from the muggle world. That would be much more comfortable for her, but she supposed this was his element now, with all of these social events, so it really was only fair that she displayed equal enthusiasm for his activities if she had any hope of him becoming a Molly Ringwald fan.

"Yes," she agreed with a smile on her face, "We have tomorrow."

He beckoned her forward and toward the gazebo in the center of the garden, "Come on, then. Let's get this over with."

She nodded and followed him, trying not to think about how his fingertips up against the small of her back as she maneuvered around him on the narrow path.

"So," Narcissa said, raising a cup of tea to her rouge lips. They were never less than pristine and even during brunch this was no exception. "Hermione, how have you been since I last saw you?"

"Oh, fine." She tucked an ankle behind the other one and physically had to refrain from squirming in her seat. Pansy had swatted her enough times to let her know it was _not_ ladylike.

When the silence continued, Hermione realized Narcissa was still waiting for her to go on, clearly unsatisfied with Hermione's monosyllabic response.

"I've been very busy at work. Loads of paperwork and," she bit her lip at _umm_ and desperately tried to think of something, _anything_ else to add. In all honesty, she hadn't been up to too much the past month. Mostly work and errands with Draco to help boost their chances of being seen in public together by their respective exes.

"Mother," Draco cut in – Hermione shot him a gratuitous glance, mouthing _thank you_ while Narcissa wasn't looking – "you remember what I told you of Hermione's work? With the elves?"

"Oh, yes." Narcissa said drily. "Not my cup of tea, I'm afraid, but good for you."

She did not sound pleased for Hermione in the slightest. This wasn't going as well as she'd hoped. How could she have possibly imagined winning over Narcissa's affections when they had absolutely nothing in common? It was insane.

Rather than let the topic go, though, Narcissa chimed back up with, "Why? Why do you do it?"

"S.P.E.W.?" Hermione asked. Narcissa nodded, arching a brow for her to continue. "I started it years ago, actually, but I couldn't do too much other than spread flyers and badges at school." She shrugged, eying a delicious-looking pastry covered in rosy frosting. "It wasn't until I started working for the Ministry that I could really get it running. Now, the organization has been able to secure fair wages for house elves and better working conditions. I've spent the past few months working up a draft to change some of the laws regarding elf welfare."

"Oh?" Narcissa said, dropping an additional sugar cube into her tea and stirring it before taking another sip.

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "I'm hoping it'll be done soon so I can have it read at the next high meeting."

"It's quite good, actually." Draco added. "Literary speaking of course. Your writing is quite good. I still like my house elves the way they are." He amended.

Hermione tried to refrain from rolling her eyes at him in front of Narcissa, though she felt her lips betray her into a smirk. They'd argued this topic of discussion often enough on their lunch breaks for her to know where he stood on the subject.

"Interesting," Narcissa commented, though her tone depicted she thought otherwise. "Do you do anything else that's more. . . useful?"

"Mother," Draco interjected.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione started, brushing Draco away. She could handle this herself, surely. "I don't mean to offend you or your way of living, but it's a matter of abuse of magical creatures."

"Abuse?" Her voice warningly high-pitched.

"Yes." She replied. "Simply because they are non-human does not mean they are deserving of less rights than we are. They are magical creatures, as are we, and therefore they should be entitled to the same welfare regulations and control we are given. There should be an elf in the department for that, as well."

Hermione cut herself off, aware of the familiar ramble that was soon to unwind from her tongue if she continued. She knew herself well enough to know that once she went down that rabbit hole, there was very little she could do to pull herself out of it. This was certainly not the time and place.

She took a moment to catch her breath; heat having risen to her cheeks and flushed them into a deep rosy color.

"Hm." Narcissa commented.

She then turned to Draco and asked him about how he liked his current position and if there were any way he could get out of it to help his father run the family business. Draco shook his head, telling her she already knew his position on that particular argument.

The conversation stayed pleasant and shallow for the remainder of the brunch. After Narcissa said her goodbyes and traipsed into the gardens, admiring her peonies and gardenias, Hermione turned to Draco and let out a loud sigh of relief. She'd been holding onto it for the entirety of the morning along with an aching tension in her neck and shoulders.

"She doesn't like me very much," Hermione pointed out.

Draco shook his head, "On the contrary, I think she likes you more than you presume." When she opened her mouth to argue, he stood and held out a hand for her to take. "Let's not discuss it. I'm sure it's fine. Besides, getting Mother to like you was not in the contract."

"I know." She said. "But still."

* * *

"Coming!" Hermione called as she ran to the door of her flat. She threw open the door and wiped a sleeve across the perspiration on her forehead. "You know, I'm getting extremely tired of having to get up every time you show up at my door. You've done it so often recently I swear I've added an extra mile to my weekly exercise regimen."

"Hey," Draco said, moving through her gestured arm and into the living room. "It's not my fault you won't update your stupid wards so I can just apparate or floo in." He arched a brow at her.

She narrowed her brown eyes at him for a moment, but then shrugged it off and waved him away. "Yes, fine, whatever. I'll update them in the morning, before we head to work."

"Splendid," He grinned. Then Draco surveyed the room and decided to settle into the far end of the sofa.

Hermione closed the door behind her and levitated two stemmed glasses from her kitchen counter, along with a bottle of her best merlot, over to the coffee table. She noticed that he sat in a position which forced her to choose how intimate she wanted to be. Did she mind sitting beside him and sharing the sofa? Or, would she be more comfortable in the lone armchair, leaving plenty of space between them?

She opted for the former.

"Wine?" She asked, already pouring the dark red liquid into the second glass before hearing his reply.

"Don't suppose you're giving me much of a choice, Granger." He replied, taking the second glass from her outstretched hand.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "You don't have to – "

"Relax," he interrupted with a crooked smile, "I'm joking. Of course, I'll have some wine."

He took an emphatic sip, savoring the bitter taste on his tongue and wondered – briefly – if her lips would taste as bittersweet as he watched them stain from her own tentative sip.

"I'm going to need plenty of substance if I'm going to make it through these boring films you're forcing me to watch." He added.

His sarcasm flew over Hermione's head as she delved into her collection of films. She sorted through them earlier in the afternoon in anticipation for this evening. Not because it was Malfoy, she reminded herself – several times, not that it was anybody's business – but because she lived for such small luxuries as sitting at home with a crisp glass of wine and a good book or film.

"There are so many," she stated, "I picked out the Must See's, but I'm hopeful that we can make it into the Honorable Mention's category by the end of the month."

"How," he cleared his throat. "How many are we watching?"

"Well, I was _thinking_ that we should watch one for every social event you've dragged me to and will continue to drag me to." He grimaced. "It's only fair." She added with a sinister smile displayed sweetly over her rouge-tinted lips. She took another sip of wine and reached for a throw to toss over her bare legs. "Unless, you don't have any more functions in mind? Because in that case we only have to watch the two I chose for tonight."

He grumbled under his breath about how he didn't particularly enjoy his social events either, hence dragging her to all of them with him. Instead, he sighed and reached for the edge of her tartan throw.

"Fine, but it's bloody freezing in here so quit hogging this."

"No," she scoffed, yanking it closer to her. "Get your own!"

"Where, Granger?" She shrugged. "You're impossible."

She flicked her wand and cast the first film into its slot and watched the opening scene project onto the television. Muggle contraptions were a necessary evil for her beloved muggle films to play well.

"_Saturday March 24, 1984. Shermer High School. Dear Mr. Vernon: We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it is we did wrong. . ."_

As the ending scene finished, Hermione peered up at Draco to gauge his reaction of the film. He'd been quiet for the entirety of it, only breaking his focus once or twice to ask her what certain muggle terms were, and she was desperate to know what he thought about it.

"Well," she said.

"So," he started, stretching his long legs under the throw – she'd caved about twenty minutes in and thrown half of it over his body, inching closer so that they could both fit comfortably under its warmth – "he gave her an earring and all was well? Not even the pair of earrings, either, just the one."

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's just odd, I suppose, if I were to give a prospect of interest a gift of jewelry, I would give her the whole thing. _Half_?" He frowned, uncrossing his arms to fill both of their glasses.

At the recognition of the empty bottle, he stood to retrieve another one from her cabinet, following where she was pointing him to.

"It's _symbolic_." Hermione protested. She huffed, "No, Malfoy, _that_ cupboard. Honestly."

He trotted back over and topped off their glasses with the dark liquid, neither minding the impropriety of the warm temperature of the liquid. There was a large thud following a crack as Harry and Ginny both appeared in the kitchen that Draco had just vacated to resume his position on the sofa beside Hermione.

"They look like they're getting along," Harry slurred.

Ginny nodded in agreeance, then whispered – not really, she merely shouted in a raspy tone, but both Hermione and Draco were too preoccupied to pay them any attention – that Hermione and Draco had been spending a lot of time together, and that both seemed to benefit from it.

Meanwhile, Hermione and Draco continued arguing about the symbolism – or lack thereof – of various points of the film, neither looking up to notice Harry throwing his arms around Ginny's waist and leading her into her room, both clearly inebriated as they bumped into numerous surfaces and cursing them for their ill-advised placement in the room.

"I'm just saying, why did they choose that the be their name when it's evident there was certainly no food or coffee available during their detention? Also, none of their prospective stereotypes had anything to do with breakfast." He suggested.

Hermione groaned, throwing her hands in the air, "That's not the point!"

She continued her tirade of explaining the meaning behind the friendships in the film as she picked out two more films and held them up for his inspection. Draco, not breaking from his counterargument, motioned for the one in her left hand. She dutifully swapped the films and settled back into the sofa. He instinctively let his arm rest behind her head as she leaned her shoulder into his chest. Both of them continued their bickering until the opening scene started, then a silence fell between them with neither having to tell the other.

"_You read the Bible, Ringo? Well, there's this passage I've got memorized. Ezekiel 25:17. . . __I've been saying that shit for years, and if you heard it that meant your ass. I never gave much thought to what it meant, I just thought it was some cold-blooded shit to say . . . before I popped a cap in his ass."_

Draco's chest shook beneath Hermione, causing her to bounce slightly as she lay on top of him. They were currently sprawled out on the sofa, with him positioned behind her, his elbow propped up so that he could see the film in front of them.

She tilted her head to the side to see him stifling a laugh and covering his mouth with his free hand before muttering an apology for the interruption and returning his hand to her hip.

It rested lightly, barely any pressure at all, but she had been inanely aware of its presence the entire second film and had noticed its weight leave for even the fraction of the instance.

She blushed and returned her own gaze to the end scene, excited to see what he had to say about this one. Clearly, it was more his style as far as classic muggle films went. Perhaps, if she was lucky, he'd even outright admit how much he enjoyed it _in spite_ of its muggle origins.

Hermione levitated the empty glasses and bottles into the sink and the bin, respectively, then cast a mischievous grin over her shoulder at Draco.

"You can admit that you liked it," she offered.

He stretched, reaching his hands high above his head, revealing a small clearance of skin between his trousers and the hem of his shirt, causing Hermione to forcibly divert her gaze before he noticed and hide the heat that warmed her cheeks as unspeakable thoughts buried themselves in her mind.

Draco in turn, luckily for her having not noticed her watching him, shrugged and wandered over to the kitchen and leaned against the counter beside her as she dried the glasses and set them aside.

"It's just me," she added. "I won't tell."

His grey eyes lingered on her, taking her in. The smell of roses as intoxicating now as they had been for the duration of the film as he held her to his chest with the scent of her shampoo wafting through his senses.

"It is you," he finally murmured in response.

Then, breaking from his reverie, physically stepped back and leaned on the kitchen island opposite her in order to put some distance between them and clear his mind. They were just friends. This is just for the contract. Nothing more.

"It was good,"

"It was more than good. If I may be so bold, Malfoy, I recall you actually _enjoyed_ it and – dare I say it? – _laughed_?" She grinned.

He crossed his arms over his chest, "All right, whatever Granger, that second one was brilliant."

"Yes!" She beamed, "I knew you'd like it."

"Same time next week, then?" He asked.

"Sure," she agreed.

* * *

The firepit in the living room of Hermione's flat turned a deep emerald green before a tall blonde stepped gracefully out of the flames, tossing a coffee cup in her direction.

"Come on," Draco beckoned, motioning for her to stand and join him.

"But I just – " She stuttered. She glanced between the cup in her hand and the one noticeably absent from his. "Where's your coffee?"

He shrugged. "I don't drink coffee, Granger."

"No, I specifically recall the last _two months_ you walked in with a cup in your hand!"

"Yes," he groaned, straightening the navy tie he threw on in a haste that morning. He had woken up late, accidentally smashing his alarm clock to pieces the night before, and therefore was in a terrible hurry not to be late for work. He raked his long fingers through his hair – he'd prioritized that first this in the morning, so it looked perfectly in place, as per usual – and let out a loud emphatic sigh. He gave Hermione a pointed stare. "It was tea. I always had tea. The coffee was just for you, now will you _please_ hurry up and get over here."

He gestured to his outstretched arm, awaiting hers to loop into it as it did every morning on their way to the Ministry.

"I – " She stopped herself again. She found her throat dry at his confession, and without much else going through her mind, dumbly pointed to the newspaper she held in the hand that wasn't holding onto her precious cup of joe.

"I haven't finished the crossword, yet."

Her first coherent sentence since he walked through the floo and it was a disaster. She sounded like a child.

Draco blinked several times; he contemplated withholding another confession, but after glancing at the old clock on her wall, he decided he'd better not risk missing the morning meeting. Sure, his office was especially laid back, but that doesn't mean they occasionally got their shit together and forced him to appear on time or suffer an enormous pile of paperwork to drown himself in for the remainder of the afternoon.

He let out a sigh, bit his lip, and met her curious brown eyes.

"Portmanteau."

"What?" She asked.

"That's the one you're missing, right?" He said, gesturing to the newspaper. "Ten down. Portkey Portmanteau. That's the object."

She blinked at him, then peered down at the puzzle before looking up and meeting his darkened grey eyes.

"How did you – "

"Granger," he glanced nervously at the clock, "I don't have _time_."

She p

She robotically placed the newspaper on the counter, grabbed her coat and cup of coffee and linked her arm in his. They apparated to the atrium, to which he wanted to flee from in hopes of making it to the meeting in time.

Except, Draco caught the dreamy look on her face that told him her mind was far off in another place and she needed to be coaxed back to reality. He sighed inwardly and pulled her off to the side, away from the hustling and bustling of the crowds of witches and wizards going through their morning commute.

"Hey," he said to her, tilting her chin up with his knuckles so that she would meet his eyes.

"You knew?"

"I knew."

She bit her lip. "Why didn't you ever say anything before? I've done that puzzle every morning, and usually I have some rant about the final word I got stuck on and you," she paused to take a shaky breath, "you just let me go on?"

"Yes." He replied.

"Why?"

He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutinizing look, having now returned to reality full-force.

"Because you're an insufferable swot and I didn't want you to think it was some competition. Because it's not. Clearly, I would win. Besides, you get all antsy and freak out when you're competitive and I'm not entirely fond of it," He finally said, managing to find some solid footing in a safe lie.

She eyed him, "I do not," she muttered. "Freak out, I mean."

He laughed, "Oh, yes, you do! Do you recall last movie night? When you _demanded_ that I – "

"Ok, fine. That _one_ time!" She argued.

"Then, there was the first quidditch match I brought you along for? You said that – "

"I get it!" She shouted. "I get the point. No need to beat a dead horse,"

He scoffed and crossed his arms. "Your words, Granger, not mine. I'm just saying, that I withheld the answers to the crossword for a good reason. You're a lunatic."

She pouted.

He leaned closer, tucking a curl that had sprung free of her plait behind her ear, and whispered against her ear, "You are a lunatic," his lips brushed against her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine, "but you're my lunatic."

When he straightened, he offered her a wayward grin and nodded behind her. She craned her neck slowly, eying a familiar dark-haired witch, not even a meter away, who had been clearly eavesdropping on their private conversation.

Astoria.

Hence his last commentary. She shuddered, dispelling the dirty thought that had briefly crossed her mind and turned back to face him.

He winked at her and left to head for the lifts, "See you at lunch, Granger."

They were just friends, she reminded herself painfully. This was just for the contract. Nothing more.

* * *

Malfoy strolled into her humble office for what felt like the millionth time. She had to give him credit, he'd been strict with keeping to his promise to stop by every day with a small bouquet of flowers – today it was baby's breath scattered among the blooming sunshine daisies – and escorted her to their usual spot in the park of Muggle London.

She'd come to look forward to their daily lunches; after the second week of him stealing her baby carrots, and scolding her for the amount of hummus she doused them in, she started packing an extra handful of them with a side of ranch (because for some unknown reason he preferred _that_ fatty nightmare as opposed to hers).

"Hey," she greeted, looking up from her toppling stack of files to see his face – slightly flushed with caused her to immediately wonder what he'd been up – and offer him a small smile. "I'll just be one more minute."

He nodded, replacing the flowers from the day before – gardenias from his mother's garden – with the ones he held in his hands. He remained quiet, anxiously pacing in front of her desk, until she finally snapped the file shut and stood abruptly.

"I have news," she started, rising from her uncomfortable chair. He arched a brow in her direction, and she continued, "I got approval." A blank expression. "For the elf welfare law. They've approved the draft and have agreed to fit it into the next meeting. It's amazing really, this time next year there could be _an elf_ on the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It would give them their own voice, it's everything I – "

"Granger," His expression visibly shifted; his eyes widened, and a smile crept up on his stiff lips. "That's brilliant! I'm so proud of you."

He closed the distance between them and enveloped her in a soul-crushing embrace. She felt her feet leave the floor as he twirled her around, and when he let her feet touch the floor, she was breathless.

His lips parted slightly. A detail of which she was painfully aware of due to their proximity. If she wanted to – which was something she certainly wasn't going to admit, not even to herself – she could have brushed her lips against his with the slightest inclination of her head. She could taste the sweet, spice of his lips. But she didn't. Instead, he released his tight grip on her ribs and stepped away from her, then cleared his throat.

For a moment, she sincerely wished she'd kissed him. It had been nearly three months since their last kiss. Sure, she'd been the one to make that rule in their contract, but still.

Hermione internally reprimanded herself and turned her attention elsewhere. Literally anywhere else except for his intense grey gaze.

He shifted uneasily between each foot, then continued pacing her office as she attempted to organize the papers on her desk as she let her pulse decrease to an acceptable resting rhythm.

"What's wrong?" She asked, finally addressing his anxious behavior.

"Nothing," he replied with a purse of his lips and a slight shrug.

She reached for her lunchbox, pointedly ignored Harry's and Ron's stares in the hallway, and entered the lift behind him. When they were alone in the small space, she turned to him with a stern look on her face.

"Tell me."

He sighed, "I won't be able to make lunch tomorrow."

"Oh," she said. It wasn't as if one day without him would kill her – she was pretty sure – but she forced her tense shoulders into a nonchalant shrug and nodded. "That's fine."

"I have a work thing," he explained, though both of them knew it wasn't necessary.

"Sure. Don't worry about it." Her lips twitched into an uneasy smile. "One day without you won't kill me," she continued. "I did survive lunch before you waltzed into my life."

He scoffed, sensing her attempt to lighten the mood among the stale air in the lift, and added, "Oh, sure, I recall. The cupboard."

She avoided his smirk and taunting gaze, "Shut up, Malfoy."

As he promised, Malfoy was not present the following day to pick her up for their lunch break. She opted, instead of wandering through the Ministry alone, to eat at her desk. As it turned out, a smug-looking redhead had noticed the absence of a notorious blonde.

"Malfoy finally get tired of you?" Ron said, leaning on the doorframe of her office.

"No," she snapped. "He's just busy."

"Ah, is that what you two are calling it, now?"

"What are you on about?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied with a very unsuccessfully feigned shrug of carelessness. "I saw him chatting up with Astoria is all and figured you'd finally called it quits when you realized he'd gone back to her. Guess I thought too much of you."

His words stung more than she'd like to admit, but Hermione was determined not to let him get to her. She trusted Malfoy and knew that if Ron _was_ telling the truth and he was talking with Astoria instead of spending lunch with her, he had a good reason.

"Bogger off," she said, returning her focus to the work before her, having lost her appetite despite not finishing her lunch.

"Miss. Hermione Granger?" A tentative voice said. A tall, gorgeous blonde woman poked her head in the open doorway, actively trying not to stand between Hermione and Ron.

"Yes?" She asked impatiently.

"I have a delivery for you," The woman stepped sheepishly into her office space and placed a vase with an enormous bouquet of roses and baby's breaths on the only bare corner of Hermione's desk. "Just need you to sign here, Ma'am."

Hermione scribbled a quick signature and thanked the woman who dashed past a gaping mouthed Ron in order to escape the stifling tension in the air of her office.

"Is that from _him_?" Ron prodded, "It's probably some sort of sad apology, right? Trying to make up for his time with Astoria, I bet. I wouldn't put it past the scoundrel.

"Will you quit it?" She snapped, swatting his hand away as they both reached for the note sticking prominently from atop the gorgeous bouquet.

Ron crossed his arms but didn't leave her office. It was clear he wasn't going anywhere until she addressed who sent her the flowers.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh and plucked the note from its clip but couldn't contain her gasp as she read the perfect scripture.

_Miss. Granger,_

_Although I am not supportive of this new law of yours, I congratulate you on your ability to successfully lobby and secure a hearing for it. I still hope it doesn't pass, but nonetheless, you deserve ample recognition for such a feat of even presenting it._

_Narcissa Black_

"It's a break-up bouquet, isn't it?" Ron asked, growing irater the longer her silence went on.

He snatched the note from her hands. Hermione watched as the grimace on his face deepened, and then felt heat rise to her cheeks as he gave her a nasty once-over before thrusting the note back into her grasp and stomping out of her office. Hermione couldn't help it and let a giggle slip from her rosy lips, tentatively placing a finger over them to stop the smile forming from growing any more.

* * *

"TEN POINTS TO THE CHUDLEY CANNONS!"

The announcer's voice boomed through the stadium as a red-clad woman zoomed past the stands with her fist in the air, celebrating the goal that put her team at the advantage over the previously tied score.

It was a slow, unrelenting match and Hermione was absolutely bored out of her mind. To make matters worse, Draco was completely enraptured in the game. More notably, he was intently focused on the players of the Chudley Cannons. She knew it was only because it was part of his job – he'd dragged her to enough matches now that even she, despite her best efforts, came to understand some of the statistics of the players and the teams – but it still made her stomach turn as his grey eyes followed the beautiful brunette soar across the field. In the back of her mind, a voice reminded her that he hadn't brought up his _supposed_ conversation with Astoria that he'd ditched her at lunch for.

She had to remind herself it meant nothing, and more importantly, it didn't matter if it had. He wasn't hers. They were only friends using each other. It wasn't real.

Hermione slipped out a novel that she'd stowed in her bag and flipped to the bookmarked page. Unfortunately, she'd barely been able to read the third word in the first sentence before it was ripped from her hands.

"Hey!" She protested.

Draco shook his head and tsk-ed at her. "No reading at the matches."

"But I'm _bored_." She lamented.

"Tough luck, Granger, a deal's a deal. Besides, you've managed to make it through the previous matches without pulling out a," – he glanced at the cover and grimaced at the embracing couple – "a romance novel. No need to start now."

"It's not like I'm the one who has to pay attention. This is your job, not mine."

He smirked, "So, stop distracting me then."

She frowned; her lips protruding in a childlike pout. She extended an arm in hopes of retrieving the book back from his grip. No such luck.

"Nope," he said. "You're not getting this back until the match is over."

"Rude."

"Thank you," he grinned.

Then, to her dismay, he turned his attention back to the Cannons and away from her. She sulked for the remainder of the game – which thankfully was only another twenty minutes – and then followed him towards the exit.

This particular match was well-watched which meant that the usual crowd that she had – again, against her will – become a part of was also accompanied by traveling fans of the two teams. This was the quarterfinal match, and with the Montrose Magpies having just lost, that meant that the Chudley Cannons advanced to the semi-finals.

Hermione huddled closely behind Draco in the sea of red, clasping onto his forearm and digging her nails into his skin so as not to get separated by the zealous fans cheering and whooping their way out of the stands and towards the portkey.

He slipped a hand around her waist and tugged her to the side once they were in the open field, and then apparated both of them to the living room of her flat.

"How was it?" Ginny asked.

Her feet were propped up on Harry's lap, both of them lounging on the sofa. She threw a loose piece of popcorn towards his gaping mouth. Astonishingly, he managed to catch it despite his glasses being on the table a few meters away.

"Oh, it was brilliant." Draco replied, moving to sit on the lone armchair. He waved a hand, inviting her to throw a popcorn his way. She did and he caught it with much more grace than Harry previously displayed. "Beatriz was a beast. She scored more than half of their points alone," – Hermione gathered he was referring to the beautiful brunette and grimaced as she slid into a seat on the floor, positioning herself between his calves. "You're going to have one hell of a game when you play them, She-Weasel."

Although Ginny had given Malfoy the green light to call her by her actual name, it became an ongoing joke that he still called her this nickname. It lacked any malice it may have previously adorned, and therefore when he used it just now, she replied with a mischievous grin.

"I'm not worried about Beatriz," she commented. "She should be worried about _me_. And Nora."

Nora was Ginny's best girlfriend on her team. She, directly quoted from another similar interaction between Draco and Ginny, was a _force to be reckoned with_ according to Draco.

Hermione was well aware that their shop talk and swap of statistical information on the team's was highly against Draco's job description. He was certainly breaking at least three codes of conduct just by having this conversation, much less having it after every match they'd attended.

He nodded in agreeance, "It's going to be a good game."

She turned her gaze toward Hermione, playfully tossing a popcorn that she batted away rather than attempt – and most likely fail – to catch in her mouth.

"You going to be there?" She asked.

Hermione repressed a groan, sure she was happy to support her best friend, but she knew this match would be infinitely more obnoxious and rambunctious, which she loathed.

"Absolutely," she confirmed. Draco beamed.

"Well, I'd better get going," he said.

"No," Ginny waved at him dismissively, causing him to sit back down in the armchair. "You should stay for game night."

"Game night?" He asked, shooting Hermione an inquisitive look.

She reminded herself to admonish Ginny later for interfering. To be fair, _she_ didn't know that their relationship was a sham and probably wondered why Hermione had never invited him to game night earlier.

"Game night," she confirmed, offering a weary smile. "She's right, you should stay." _Lie._

He eyed her, keeping his intense grey eyes locked on her. He internalized her micro expressions before letting a smile form on his lips. He broke their engagement to give Ginny a nod, "Sure. I'd love to."

An hour – and much too much of Ogden's – later, Hermione sat across from Ginny at the coffee table, stifling a laugh as Draco stared down Harry. Harry had won the first card game they played, causing Draco to lean away from Hermione and focus strictly on the game at hand. The next game they played; Draco won.

Now, they sat across from each other with matching glares and smug expression pulling at their mouths. The most recent card game – the one Harry was notorious for destroying Ginny and Hermione in every week – proved to be the most interesting for the girls. They'd quickly lost in the first round, but Harry and Draco had tied. On the first tie-breaker round, Draco had the upper hand. On the second; Harry did. Now, it was the third and final attempt at a tie-breaker.

Harry narrowed his jewel-toned eyes at Draco. Draco lifted his chin with a smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ginny. Ginny's shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"3. . . 2. . . 1!" Hermione shouted.

Both boys showed their hand. Draco leapt up and pointed a finger in Harry's direction, "HA!"

He gingerly returned to his seat on the floor and leaned back against the sofa behind him with his arms crossed over his chest; a genuine look of triumph stretched over his face.

Meanwhile, Harry scoffed, "You got lucky, Malfoy."

"Please, Potter, nobody likes a sore loser."

"Bogger off," he retorted.

Hermione and Ginny rolled onto the floor with laughter. When she came back up for air, she wiped liquid away from the corner of her eyes and patted Draco on the shoulder.

"You should definitely come to game night more often," she said. "I've never seen Harry bested at that game."

"Honestly," Ginny added. She shot Harry an apologetic look and shrugged, "What? It gets boring when you win all the time. Hermione and I don't stand a chance." – he sullenly glared at her – "Oh, come off it. You know I love you."

He sighed and pulled her into an embrace, whispering sweet nothings in her ear while wrestling her to the floor.

Hermione cleared her throat and looked anxiously over at Draco. His smug look still strewn over his face. He elbowed her in the ribs, "How come you've never invited me over for game night before?" He asked.

She swallowed, "It wasn't in the contract." _Lie_.

"Mhmm," he nodded.

He didn't believe her. On one hand, it was a fair point that it wasn't included in their contract of mutually destructive and inclusive activities, however, on the other hand, they'd also hung out on several occasions without any obligation to contractual activities.

He shrugged it off, brushing dust from his trousers as he stood. "Better be going, it's getting late." She nodded weakly. "Night, Granger."

"Wait," she said. He released the handful of green powder and stepped away from the fireplace.

Hermione suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit her. She hadn't quite placed the source of her uneasy stomach until Draco threatened to leave for the night. It was when she realized something truly terrifying: she didn't want him to leave.

Over the past three months, they'd spent most of every day together. They'd learned each other's bad habits and, after much teasing, come to appreciate them. At first, she loathed when Draco forced her to leave the comfort of her sofa and the company of a good book on a Saturday night in favor of a new, exciting bar that opened in Diagon. But he didn't let her bail on second or third weekend either. After a while, she ended up being the one rushing _him_ out the door. In contrast, she arranged a new time slot for their quiet-night-in on Sunday evenings, forcing him to accompany her to her favorite bookstore in Diagon and share the throw on her sofa, letting the warmth spread between them as the sky darkened and they slipped in one of her muggle films, settling in for the night with a glass of Merlot.

When his grey eyes were focused on her – much like they were at the moment – she felt a familiar shiver run down her spine as the rest of the room disappeared. There were no sounds except for the ones he whispered in her ear. There were no distractions that could compare to the lightest touch of his skin against hers. When he brushed his knuckles against hers in the lift as they reached her floor. When he caressed her cheek as inconspicuously as he could manage while tucking a wild curl behind her ear. Even when his fingers flicked at her nose when she was eying the pastries on his plate too closely over brunch.

Hermione had figured this moment was inevitable. Statistics would prove just so. For how long can someone spend at someone's side before either falling irreparably and hopelessly in love with them or realizing how much they despise them. She had expected the latter when drafting up the contract and agreeing to this heinous deal in the first place. As is turned out, fate had thrown its weight behind the former.

The nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her of why they'd even started this in the first place.

To make their exes jealous. Personally, she'd stopped caring about what Ron thought long ago and hadn't even realized it until this moment. Could it be possible that somewhere along the way, Draco had done the same thing? Had he also stopped paying attention to every little thing Astoria did? Who she was with? What her reaction to something they did might be?

She wanted to believe Draco could return her feelings. That he could have recklessly let himself get caught up in their relationship just as she had.

But, yet again, that little voice in her head opposed. It scolded her for being so foolish. For had he not spent the other day with Astoria instead of her? Had he not already shown his hand?

And, from what Hermione now knew, Draco did _not_ have a stoic poker face.

Hermione snapped out of her internal reverie and met Draco's expectant grey eyes. The familiar chill ran up her spine, the tiny hairs on her arms standing erect, but she didn't let herself get trapped under his spell. Because if she did, she may not have had the courage to say what she said next.

"I think we should call it off."

"What?" He blinked several times. "What are you talking about?" He repeated.

"This," she gestured to the space between them. "Our deal. The contract. Everything. I'm calling it off. We're done. We did what we agreed to do."

Her heart was racing. His grey eyes narrowed as his lips – previously turned up in a careless smile – angled downwards into a deep grimace.

"Granger,"

"No, I'm serious." She sputtered; the more he talked, the less confident she became.

"I know. But you can't do this. Not now." _Not with the gala so soon_. He didn't have to explicitly remind her. She knew.

"I can't – " She broke off. He was unraveling her. Piece by piece. "There's no point in continuing. Ron's sufficiently jealous."

His eyes darkened, glinting in the dim lighting. "Do you plan on getting back together with him?"

"No," she admitted breathlessly.

"Then, why now?" He pressed.

She shook her head. She couldn't be trusted not to unwind completely if she even so much as _attempted_ to answer that one.

"Hold off," he continued. "Hold off on that thought. Just until the gala is over with. It's too soon now to call it quits. There's no way I'm showing up there alone and if neither of us – or even one of us – doesn't go it'll be obvious that something's up." He reasoned.

She chewed her lip.

"Just – " He sighed deeply. "Just wait, ok? Until after the gala. We can arrange some dramatic, choreographed break up for everyone to see after, if that will make you happy. Just not yet." He could see her slowly taking in everything he was saying, and right when he could see that she was about to protest, he added, "_Please._"

That one word. That damned word.

He never said. At least, if she recalled correctly, he very rarely said it. It meant something to him. She felt the last piece of her will unravel and hit rock bottom with a tremendous thud.

"Fine," She agreed.

He nodded.

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

He didn't return the sentiment, instead, he grabbed a fistful of green powder and stepped into the flames.

* * *

"GIN!" She shouted through their flat, scurrying out from her room to find the person of interest lying face down on the floor.

Hermione entered her flatmate's room and gingerly kicked at her thigh.

"Hey," she said. Another kick. Nothing. Another. Nope. Another.

"ALL RIGHT." Ginny mumble-shouted. Her face was pressed into the floor with her hair spread around her head like flames rising in the fire.

She rolled onto her back and glared up at Hermione. "What?"

"What do _you mean_ 'what'?" Hermione threw her arms up in the air and kicked the girl again. "Get up! I'm having a crisis and I need you!"

"Hermione, I'm _exhausted_. Can't this wait thirty minutes? I'm busy." She rolled back over onto her stomach and feigned rambunctious snores emphatically.

"NO, YOU'RE NOT." Hermione insisted, squatting to force Ginny to roll back over. "_Please_, come on, Gin. You can nap after, when the Twisted Sisters show up."

"Oh, _no_," Ginny groaned, sitting up so that she and Hermione were eye-to-eye. "Do they _have_ to come, Mione? Seriously?"

"Listen, I'm not pleased about it either, but they insisted. Plus, we both know I'm useless so, honestly, the more the merrier."

Ginny sighed, dragged her hands down her face and let out another groan.

"Fine, FINE." She rose to her feet, helping Hermione stand with her. "What is it?" She moved over to her bed and patted the space beside her.

Unlike Hermione's room, Ginny's was spotless. Her bed was even made. It was every morning, even despite the girl's pre-dawn practices, which irritated Hermione to no end. How was it that Ginny managed to _do everything_?

"Well," she started, plopping down on the duvet. "I think Draco and I should break up."

There. Straight to the point. No bullshit; just the way she knew Ginny liked it.

"Seriously?" Ginny's face shot back; her eyebrows arched to the ceiling. "Why?"

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. She'd already had to phrase the previous statement incorrectly in order not to reveal how _insane_ she truly was for arranging the contract and agreement with Draco, but how was she supposed to word this?

_Sorry, Gin, don't know how else to put it: we've been lying to you for three months and now that I actually have real feelings and am terrified of commitment no thanks to your idiot brother, I have to end things so I won't get more hurt. That's cool right?_

That won't work.

"Because," she said. "It's just not working out. We aren't compatible." _Lie._

Ginny scoffed, "Yeah, _okay_. I don't buy it. What's the real reason? Is it because he's bad in bed? Ugh, I totally get it, if that's the case – "

"No!" Hermione cut in. "I mean, I wouldn't _know_, but– "

"_You wouldn't know?_" Ginny outright laughed. She wiped a tear away from the corner of her eye after regaining her composure, "Mione, that's your problem. What the hell are you waiting for?"

"I – Err – Uh," What the hell was she supposed to say to _that_? "We're just not compatible."

"Listen," Ginny continued. She held her hand tightly between her own, then looked at Hermione with a much more sincere expression. "Hermione, that's just not true. You two are _incredibly_ compatible. I've never seen you happier. You know I wouldn't bullshit you," – _True. _– "and I'm certainly the last person, along with Harry, who would ever, _ever_ approve of Malfoy, much less _like_ him," – _Also, true. _– "So, whatever it is that's really bothering you, work it out. Talk to him. Don't call it off, not yet."

Rats.

"So," Hermione said sheepishly, "I probably shouldn't ditch him or the gala, right?"

Ginny shook her head, then ran a finger through Hermione's wild curls. "Oh, you stupid, stupid girl. No." She smiled sweetly at Hermione. "You absolutely cannot do that. I don't care what Malfoy has to say, you are not abandoning me to endure Harry's horrible dancing skills alone."

Hermione let a peel of laughter escape her tight-lined lips. "All right, Gin. Fine, you win. I'll go."

"Good," Ginny promptly shoved her off the bed and chuckled as Hermione landed ungracefully on the bedroom floor. "Now, please leave me to nap in peace until the Twisted Sisters show up."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

"Hermione!" Came a sing-song-y voice before three loud thuds of a fist against their front door.

"Oops," Hermione winced, shooting Ginny an apologetic shrug.

"Ugh!" She groaned, throwing a pillow over her face and letting the remainder of her scream dissolve into the feathered square.

Daphne danced into the flat with handfuls of dresses in garment carriers with a pageant-winning smile across her rouge lips. Her perfect golden hair lay in waves that bounced as she twirled and admired the interior design of Hermione's flat.

"So cute and cozy!"

"She means that as an insult," Pansy remarked, stepping into the flat clad in a velvet slip and black kitten heels paired with dark plum lips spreading as she smirked.

"I did not," Daphne scoffed, then glared at Pansy before returning her attention to Hermione, who suddenly felt immensely self-conscious in her oversized sleep shirt and fluffy slippers. "Where's your room?" She asked brightly.

Hermione pointed. Ginny poked her head out of the one across from hers and leaned against her doorframe.

"Ginny Weasley!" Daphne cooed. "Oh, my, you're going to this gala, too, aren't you? Yes, of course, you are! Silly me," She lifted the dozens of dresses in her arms, "Care to join us?"

Ginny opened her mouth to vehemently protest the idea, but Hermione stepped in between her and Daphne and nodded vigorously.

"She'd _love _to!" Hermione said.

"Lovely!" Daphne said.

"_Great,_" Pansy rolled her eyes and followed Daphne into Hermione's – recently cleaned – bedroom.

Ginny shot Hermione a murderous glare, but Hermione smiled cheekily in response and pulled her into the bedroom after the Twisted Sisters.

Hours – and too much hairspray – later, Hermione and Ginny were prim-perfect and ready for anything the night decided to throw at them. Daphne and Pansy stood back and admired their work with intensely critiquing stares before finally nodding to each other. Having received the official final approval, Hermione and Ginny both sent owls to their respective dates and let them know that they were going to head over to the place where the gala was being hosted soon.

She found him immediately. He was hard to miss what with his starkly blonde hair and meticulous build, or perhaps, that was just because Hermione had become adept at singling him out in a crowd. Even among a sea of dress robes and glittering gowns.

Her own gown was floor-length, rose gold, and elastic satin that clung to her body in the most pleasing manner. Buttery as silk and draping off her shoulders in such an enticing way that even _Pansy_ admitted she didn't want to take her eyes off of Hermione. Luckily, while the soft silk-like fabric clung to her upper body, the A-line – Daphne's taste was truly impeccable – skirt had a slit that ran so high up her thigh she had no choice but to abandon any hope of wearing anything underneath. Not that the low, open-back or thin satin would have allowed it anyway.

Draco strode over to greet her as she waved him down, and then brushed his lips against her knuckles, murmuring her name against them. Hermione tried – unsuccessfully – not to melt and pulled away from his touch much too quickly. He noticed the apprehension and refrained from touching her, instead shoving his hand in his trouser pocket and gesturing her forward deeper into the ballroom. Her thoughts swarmed with the pleasant memories of the last time they stood on a dance floor not too dissimilar to this one.

"You look nice," She commented in attempt to lift the awkward silence.

"As do you," He replied. Ever the gentleman.

In reality, Draco was forcing himself not to let his gaze linger on her for too long or he would say something he'd regret. She'd made it perfectly clear the other day how she felt about their situation. About them. About him.

_Everything. I'm calling it off. We're done._

A knife in his heart.

He'd been afraid to admit it, knowing her flighty tendency, but he'd fallen for her amidst their stupid agreement. Early on, if he was being honest with himself. It was why he'd met with Astoria about a month ago to tell her to leave him _alone_. He'd moved on and advised that she do the same. Though, as it turned out, the recipient of his affections had moved on as well.

_There's no point in continuing._

His fist clenched and unclenched in his pocket, driving his fingernails deeper into his palm every time.

_We're done._

He suddenly felt fever hit. His pulse racing, heart throbbing, and perspiration forming where his collar hugged his neck.

"Drinks," he spat. Then cleared his throat so as to come off more normal. "I'm going to get us some drinks."

"Fine." She said.

He turned on his heel and darted away from her, desperate for air. Desperate to get away from her. To escape the lethal combination of the scent of roses and her golden silk gown.

Hermione sighed and fell into the nearest available seat with an enormous weight on her chest. Why did he have to be so good to her? Why did he have to look _so good_ for her?

No, she reprimanded herself. Not for you. It was never for you. Just friends. Just the contract.

That's all it was: obligations masked in temptations and wrapped in a pretty satin bow.

"Hermione," came a voice from behind her. She turned to see a familiar mop of black hair and round frames smiling down at her. He gestured to the chair beside her, "This seat taken?" She shook her head and he sat down.

He granted her a minute of comfortable silence before ripping the band-aid.

"Ginny told me you wanted to break things off with Malfoy."

She winced. "I'm going to kill her." He gave her a pointed look. "Ok, maybe not kill. But definitely maim or seriously injure." She amended.

He sighed, "Don't be mad at her. She's only trying to help. She couldn't understand why you'd want to end something you both seem so happy to be involved in. Honestly, I don't quite get it either." He motioned to himself as if to say, _Hence, why I'm currently sitting here talking to you instead of dancing with my very hot, very in-love-with-me girlfriend_.

"Harry," She started. "There's so much you don't know."

"So, tell me."

"I – " She bit her lip. "I don't think you'll like me very much if I tell you."

"Try me," one corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided smile.

So, she did. Hermione told him everything. She finally let it all out – the agreement, the contract, their time together, how she felt so foolish for falling for him in the end – and it felt _freeing_. She felt the weight that bore down on her lift, allowing her to take her first real breath of the night.

"Hmm," Harry finally said after she finished venting to him. "Can I be honest with you, Mione?"

"Please,"

"I don't think you're foolish at all." She blinked; her brows furrowed at his comment. He continued, "Listen, I may not know much, certainly not as much as you," – "_Harry_," – "No, let me finish. I may not know much, but I know how men's brains work. Or _don't_ work. I can tell Malfoy really likes you. Not just for the agreement. I noticed it a while ago, actually. He's different around you. Different around loads of people, Gin and I included, and I can tell," He broke off, clasping her hand between his. "I can tell that he cares for you."

"Really? How?"

Harry laughed, "Honestly? It's this thing he does with his face when he's looking at you and he thinks no one's watching. It scrunches up in a fit of confusion. He looks at you like you're some pretty, little crossword puzzle and he's trying to figure you out, but he seems to be having a good enough time trying."

Hermione felt something stir in her core. She opened her mouth to argue, but Harry shook his head and motioned for her to be quiet, then stood up and offered a tight smile to an approaching tall blonde.

Harry clapped Draco on the back of his shoulder before disappearing into the dancing crowd in search of Ginny, leaving Hermione and Draco by themselves in the corner table.

Draco extended a hand with a tall chute of champagne in it for her to take. She reached for it and, as her fingers brushed his, felt an electric shock course through her veins.

Their eyes locked as an intimately familiar song echoed through the large room and Hermione was overwhelmed with adoration. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and press her warm lips to his.

Because Harry was right. With the way Draco was looking at her with his silvery, grey eyes it so, _so_ obvious. _He_ had fallen for _her_, too.

Draco was the one who suggested that they fake dated in the first place. He was the one who returned her kiss with a feverish one. He was the one who had consistently helped her even before they'd created the fake relationship.

Hermione had been the one to implement the No PDA rule. She was the one who tried to break things off.

Hermione gulped the remainder of the champagne she had been blindly sipping at amidst her internal revelation and set the glass loudly on the table, then stood and held out her hand for him to take.

"Dance with me?"

Thankfully, he spared her any antagonizing comment that would have helped heal his pride and took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers as they made their way to the dance floor.

A slow, melodic song transcended from the speakers and created a hazy enchantment in the crowd as couples fell closely together and swayed romantically in each other's arms. Hermione and Draco were no exception. She placed his hands on her hips and wrapped her own around his neck, scraping a nail up the top of his spine and toying with the short platinum strands at the base of his head.

"_If I would have known that you wanted me_

_The way I wanted you_

_Then maybe we wouldn't be two worlds apart_

_But right here in each other's arms _

_Here we almost, we almost knew what love was _

_But almost is never enough"_

The gentle piano chords faded, and Hermione stood on the balls of her feet, bringing her closer to Draco and angled her chin up so that there was only a breath between them. When she spoke, her lips touched his.

"I don't want an almost love. I want the real thing – the whole thing – and I think we have that, Draco. And that terrifies me."

He didn't reply. At least not in the conventional way. Instead, he bent his knees to lift her off the floor and pull her against his chest, closing the space between them and taking her breath in his.

His lips were against hers, but only barely – exploring. It could hardly be categorized as a kiss, and yet it had meant everything to her.

"There is no one like you, Granger," He sighed, releasing her from his embrace.

She stared up into his grey eyes and reveled in the dangerous gleam that shone as he pressed his lips to hers with much more hunger and passion – sure of what he wanted this time. She took him in, gasping against his parted lips as he slid a tongue along her bottom lip.

Hermione broke away with much effort, then tugged him away from the dance floor with an enthusiastic stride. She spun to face him at the edge of the crowd.

"Let's get out of here," she said, breathless.

"I thought you'd never ask." He smirked.

* * *

Light shone through the sheer curtains of Hermione's bedroom, awakening her long before she'd planned on getting up. She tried to roll over away from the invasive light in hopes of falling back asleep, but there was no chance of her moving any time soon with the deadweight of Draco's left arm and leg hooked onto her.

She sighed and accepted her fate after her third failed attempt to move out from under his grip.

Her mind wandered back to memories of last night.

_His breath hot on her inner thighs; a nip of his teeth against her skin caused a moan to slip from between her lips. _

"_Here?"_

"_Yes, yes, _there_. Don't stop,"_

_His tongue unrelenting against her clit. His deft fingers making slow, rhythmic, tantalizing motions that brought her near the edge._

"_Draco," she gasped._

"_Say it." He demanded._

"_I love you," she whimpered. _Truth.

"_Again."_

"_I love you. I want you, I – " _

_His fingers and tongue withholding much needed friction and Hermione felt herself start to rub against him herself, panting. _

"_I _need_ you, Draco."_

_She came violently. Her body spasmed and pulsed, and he held her, letting her ride out the orgasm._

That had been her first of numerous orgasms last night. Him too.

A finger brushed against her temple then gripped her chin and tilted her face toward its owner. Grey eyes softened upon seeing her brown ones looking at him in complete and utter adoration. He gave her a small, crooked smile.

"Morning, Granger,"

"Morning, Malfoy." She replied.

He pressed his lips gently against hers. She slid a tongue along his bottom lip, which parted and allowed their tongues to intertwine and slide along each other.

One hand firmly placed on his chest with the other on his ribs, digging into his flesh and pulling him closer to her.

"Draco," she whispered against his neck.

"Yes?" He asked. A kiss to her sweat-slicked forehead, tasting salt and smelling the sweet scent of roses.

"I love you."

He smiled against her temple. His hand tangled itself into her wild, morning curls and tugged at the base to expose her neck as well as pull her far enough away from him that he could meet her eyes.

"Well, it's about damn time."

She flicked his ear and frowned at him, but her pout only made him chuckle in delight.

"I love you, too." He amended, giving her a quick kiss on the tip of her nose.

"I have a question," Hermione said after a moment of comfortable silence and trailing her finger in circles around his bare chest.

"Of course, you do." He commented. "Go on,"

"What do we put in a contract for a real relationship?"

He blinked several times, then stopped to consider an answer that would not result in another flick of punishment for him.

"Nothing. You _trust_ each other." He paused, arching a brow at her. "You going to break my heart, Granger?"

She smirked, "You going to break mine, Malfoy?"

* * *

**A/N - **Imaginary House points to you if you correctly identified the pop culture references. The two films were _The Breakfast Club_ and _Pulp Fiction_ with the song they danced to being _Almost is Never Enough_ by Ariana Grande. Thank you for reading and bearing with me as I try to get my shit together and update as often as I can xx


	6. Countdown

_**Countdown**_

_Rating:_ M, for language and sex (yes, _sex_ sex)

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

_Summary:_ It's New Year's Eve and Draco has big plans for when the clock strikes twelve, but all of that nearly goes out the door when he spots Hermione in her gown.

* * *

Jazz music echoed through the house as guests milled around in their ballgowns and black-tie suits. Laughter and polite conversation filled the room while champagne and appetizers filled the guests, and all was well and joyous in the quaint London townhome.

It was not exactly what Draco imagined a Muggle party would be like. Not that he ever truly imagined himself _at_ one of these things. It was not as dull as he expected it to be, to be fair, but it certainly lacked the elegance and flair of a Malfoy ball.

He did not usually spend a lot of time around Muggles, much less engage in so many introductory conversations with them. It was exhausting.

_You're new. Where are you from?_

London. _Not particularly the same London_, Draco mused, but this overenthusiastic couple did not need to know that. Nor would wizarding laws allow it.

_How come we've never met you before?_

At this question, he simply shrugged and supplied the fervent guests with an innocent smile. It became increasingly difficult to muster that smile as the frequency of that particular question increased.

He shuffled back and forth on his feet, pacing anxiously at the bottom of the stairs that led to the second floor of the townhome. He readjusted his perfectly straight bowtie for the thousandth time in attempt to control his nerves. The music was easy enough to drown out given the intense pounding of his heart in his chest. Absentmindedly, he patted his ribcage and felt for the box tucked into the inside pocket of his coat.

"Oh, she looks lovely…" gasped someone to Draco's left.

He looked behind him to where the woman was gesturing. His jaw nearly hit the floor.

Hermione Granger stood at the top of the stairs.

She looked so elegant, so _ethereal_, it took a moment for Draco to regain some control over his thoughts. He quickly ascended the stairs so that he stood at her side. She was even more mesmerizing up close, he swooned.

"May I?" he asked, holding out his arm for her to take.

She nodded and tucked her arm into his.

"You look beautiful," he said as they descended the stairs.

"Thank you," she blushed.

He took a long moment to admire how the small dip in the neckline of her red dress provided him with a phenomenal view of her breasts. It made his head spin.

He leaned in closer and nuzzled himself in her hair, then whispered in her ear, "I _adore_ this dress on you, but I cannot wait to take it off of you later."

She blushed again and elbowed him.

"_Draco_," she chastised, but met his look with a knowing smile.

He smirked. It took a lot of effort for him not to entertain himself with fantasies of Hermione in that dress … with him on his knees … his head up under her ballgown skirt … and the soft moan of her in pleasure …

_This is impossible_, he remarked, internally.

When the two of them reached the bottom of the stairs he pulled her in for a quick, sweet kiss. Then winked at her.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were upon them in seconds, cooing over their sharp looks. They apologized to Draco for not having introduced themselves to him earlier, but he brushed them off. There was no need to fret. He understood the stress of hosting a holiday party.

They beamed and offered champagne to the lovely couple. They toasted to good fortune in the new year.

He played the part of the doting boyfriend and won their affections over with his charming smile. He slid an arm around her waist and moved to follow her parents into the main room. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were thrilled to show off their daughter and her boyfriend to all of their guests.

"Thank you for coming," Hermione said after they finally broke away from her parents.

"It's my pleasure," he stated, kissing the tips of her fingers.

"No, it's not," she countered, then explained herself at his sideways glance, "You don't enjoy these parties any more than I do."

"You're quite right," he looked around the room.

"I appreciate it," she nodded towards her parents across the room, "_They _appreciate it. They've been dying to meet you."

He could've gone his whole life without attending a Muggle party, and one on New Year's Eve no doubt, but he supposed it was only fair. He had dragged her to enough of his mother's Yule Ball's. Among other aristocratic events.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "Anything for you."

"Oh, I nearly forgot," she knelt down and slightly lifted her skirt, revealing her wand. And a small flask tucked into a strap on her ankle. She handed the flask to him, "Firewhiskey. Should help us get through tonight."

He took a swig of the burning liquid and laughed, "Got anything else hidden up there?"

"Maybe," she teased.

His eyes glinted. "Do I get to find out?"

"Only if you're good."

"Oh, but I'm _never_ good." He slid one hand behind her neck and tilted her chin up with his other hand. "Unless, you're referring to when I'm inside you. Because in that case, I _am_ good. Very good."

His stomach flipped when she visibly swallowed a gasp. Her brown eyes fixated on him.

"Arrogant, much?" she said, attempting a sullen glare.

If she was trying to feign innocence it wasn't working. He could see right through her. He always could.

"Only because you remind me how much I please you every time we f -"

She silently charmed him, not allowing him to finish that sentence. Not in front of all of these people. They might be overheard.

He raised his brows at her, but she only huffed in response. She glanced around, at the room full of Muggles, and wondered what to do about her perpetually mischievous date. She took his hand and exited the main room of the party and into a bathroom down the hall. It was quite small, but more importantly obscured them from view of the party.

After locking the door behind them she undid the charm stopping him from speaking.

"Naughty, Granger," he tsked playfully, "Using magic in front of a room full of Muggles? Have you no respect for magical law?"

"Oh, _shut up_." She shook her head at him.

"Make me," he suggested, and she didn't hesitate.

Her lips were on his, soft and divine. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in closer to him. He sucked softly on her lower lip before pulling it towards him with his teeth. She eagerly responded to his touch and kissed him deeper, her tongue tracing over his bottom lip. He slid his tongue along hers, inviting her in. She gladly complied.

He started to feel up her gown but broke away suddenly. Gasping for breath.

She looked quizzically at him. Her own chest heaving as she tried to regain a steady breath. He was intoxicating.

"Draco?" she asked, brows furrowed.

"Marry me." He breathed.

"_What?"_ she blinked, unsure of whether or not he was entirely serious.

"Marry me, Hermione Granger." He ran his thumb across her lower lip, beaming.

She looked up at him, dazed. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She could no longer hear the roar of the party over the sound of her blood pumping in her ear. It was hard to focus when he looked at her like _that._

"You're only saying that because you've been drinking and are _seconds_ away from _finally_ taking this dress off of me," she muttered.

His lips twitched into a smirk. "You have such a way with words."

He undid the buttons of his suit coat, reaching into his inner left pocket to retrieve a small, velvet box. He knelt down on one knee, not breaking eye contact with her. No small feat in such a tiny bathroom.

"I mean it," his eyes sparkled up at hers, taking in her beauty before drawing a deep breath, "I wanted to do this properly. I had an entire plan.

I would dance with you all night, woo you into utter content, and as the countdown of the new year began, I would pour my heart out to you, Hermione Granger. Obviously, things did not go as planned…"

He looked nervously around at the Muggle bathroom they were in. He popped the box open and cleared his throat.

"Forgive me, Hermione, but I could not wait a moment longer. I am so in love with you and I always will be. I am yours, if you'll have me?" He swallowed with difficulty, exhaling slowly to try and control his breathing.

She covered her mouth with her hands and nodded rather meekly before kneeling beside him and cupping his face in her hands. She pressed her lips against his, never wanting this moment to end.

When she finally pulled back, he looked at her gingerly, "So… that's a yes?"

She rolled her eyes, "Of course."

At that he grinned, unable to hide his relief, and slipped the large sparkling, emerald onto her slim finger. It fit perfectly.

"It's beautiful," she gasped.

He shrugged. _It's certainly not as beautiful as you,_ he thought to himself. But he let her have the moment, silently thanking his mother for the family heirloom.

Hermione stood up on her toes and pulled him closer to her. She kissed him softly at first, but then with a hunger he hadn't expected.

"Hermione," He breathed against her lips.

His hands traced up her arms and then found the zipper at the back of her dress. He slowly unzipped it as he kissed down her neck. When her gown was finally loose enough, he slipped a hand down her front and cupped a breast. He teased her nipple until it was hard under his touch.

He continued to kiss down her chest until met with the lining of her gown. He peeled the fabric off of her with his mouth, biting down on the dip in the neckline. He moved lower until he reached her hardened nipple and flicked it with his tongue, sucking and kissing. She moaned softly.

He suddenly pulled away and lifted her up onto the bathroom counter, then knelt before her on the floor. He lifted her skirt and kissed along her inner thigh from underneath the gown. With one finger inching its way towards her panties.

He swiftly slid them to the side and teased her some more, encircling the opening with his finger. After a few moments of antagonizing her, he slid one finger inside. She inhaled sharply as he inserted a second finger.

"I need you," she exhaled, her breath catching as she bit on her lip.

He sank his teeth into her inner thigh, briefly, before coming up from under her the skirts of her gown. His fingers still inside of her.

He grinned mischievously, pretending he hadn't heard her, "What was that?"

"I _need_ you," she whimpered, longing darkening her brown eyes.

His fingers flicked and teased her clit, never breaking eye contact with her. Her breath hitched as he deepened his hold on her, rubbing his thumb along her clit. The pace quickened as he was anything but gentle.

Suddenly there were cheers from the party just down the hall, "Ten!"

She couldn't wait any longer. She needed the release now. Leaning closer to him, she fidgeted with the buckle on his pants before swiftly removing it and unzipping them. He finally released his hold on her, peeling her panties down her legs.

"Nine!"

With a quick maneuver, his pants were around his ankles and his length in her hand. It was already full, pulsating against her touch. She ran her palm along it, rapid and crude. It was her turn to antagonize him.

"Eight!"

Her hot breath against his neck, and his lips tugging on her ear. He couldn't take it any longer. Manipulating their positioning a bit, he pulled her to the edge of the counter; she tightened her legs around his waist.

"Seven!"

In a single thrust, he was inside of her. _Deep_ inside of her. They both gasped and muffled their moans so as not to be heard by those just outside.

"Six!"

He was so close to the edge, he might explode. He slid his hand along her thigh and rubbed his finger against her clit as he buried himself inside of her, repeatedly.

"Five!"

She bit her lip and let her head fall back as she let out a tell-tale whimper. As she climaxed, he did as well.

"Four!"

Still deep inside of her, her legs now loosely hanging off the counter, he collapsed against her. His forehead stuck to the mirror behind her. One hand splayed on the mirror beside her head and the other on the small of her back.

"Three!"

They both caught their breath for a moment.

"Two!"

He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers.

"One!" The party cheered and howled, whistling at the sound of firecrackers out in the streets. "Happy New Year!"

Draco pressed a soft kiss to her nose, then to her lips.

"Happy New Year, my love," he panted.

She giggled and caressed his face, then kissed him deeply, tasting salt.

"Happy New Year."


	7. Touch Me, Hold Me, Love Me

**Touch Me, Hold Me, Love Me**

_Rating_: M (smut)

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

_Summary_: The tension is tangible. She knows if she gives in to her desires, she'll likely regret it, but the logical voice inside her head disappears as his lips burn against hers, taking her to a place she'd never known.

**A/N – **Smut. Literally just smut. There is very little plot here so if that's not your thing, I kindly ask that you not read it.

* * *

The hostess showed Hermione to a booth in the corner of the quaint restaurant.

She fumbled with her skirt for the thousandth time that day; she'd specifically chosen one of her less-casual outfits in the hopes of impressing him. Things have been. . . uneasy. . . between them lately and she wanted to put her best foot forward. After all, he'd been the one to break their silence and call her for this dinner.

That had to mean something. . . right?

To say they drifted apart would be an understatement. What once contained passion and endless romantic gestures – albeit not ones she fully understood, but nonetheless, the intention was there – had gradually turned into something that involved awkward hugs and no more than three words between each other before bed.

They had dated for quite a while, and when they both realized the next step in their relationship involved moving in together. . . well, let's just say that the fizzled spark of their relationship opted to be put out altogether.

At least, temporarily. That's what they'd both agreed on. A break would be good for their relationship. It would give them the space they needed to sort themselves out and figure out what they really wanted.

To figure out _who_ they really wanted.

Hermione absentmindedly toyed with the napkin in her lap. She was early. Of course, she was always early and being excited about meeting him for dinner had only made her timeliness better. The fact that he still hadn't shown yet was unnerving.

"Hey," A familiar voice said as it slid into the booth across from hers.

His red hair swept to one side and by the looks of it was in desperate need of a trim. It hung low enough to cause his eyelashes to flutter and spasm as he spoke. Every twitch of muscle in his face stretching the hundreds of freckles across his pale complexion.

"Hi, Ron." She greeted, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

She'd hoped that their time apart would result in a rekindling of their flame, but she only felt ever more awkward before him.

"So, Hermione," He started.

"Water?" The waitress interrupted with a plastic grin on her face.

She leaned over the table to reach for Ron's glass and, as she did, managed to place her perky tits in perfect line of sight for him. Hermione had to fight the reflux in the back of her throat as his eyes hung and lingered on her chest. Her blonde hair swept into a perfect ponytail that flicked this way and that as she pointedly turned and strutted away with a purposeful sway of her hips.

Consequently, she'd _forgotten_ to fill Hermione's glass with water.

Once Ron finally tore his eyes away from the waitresses' arse and focused them on Hermione's scowl – rightfully looking ashamed – he cleared his throat and tried talking again.

"Listen, Hermione. We've been apart for quite some time." – _Months_ – "and I think it's time we decide what's really best for us moving forward." – _Us. Ok, promising so far. – _"I think it would be a good idea that we extend this break. You know, permanently."

_Ok. . . what the fuck?_

"It's not - "

"No," She brandished a finger in his face. "Don't you dare give me that cliché, Ronald. What is this really about?"

"Well, in all honesty, I really don't think we're that compatible. We don't have anything in common anymore. Nothing to talk about. I mean the sex was," – _Fine. Mediocre, possibly. _– "well, that's not the point. You're not interested in anything I'm interested in." – _Perhaps that's because there's more to the world than quidditch, Ronald _– "and half the time I don't even know what you're talking about."

"So, you're breaking up with me?"

"You two ready to order?" The waitress cut in.

Hermione shot her a mean glare that the young witch purposefully ignored in favor of smiling stupidly at Ron. He gave her a lopsided grin and an apologetic shrug.

"Maybe in a minute, yeah?"

She sauntered away visibly deflated. Hermione didn't care. She rounded on Ron with the same menacing glare she'd just given the tall blonde.

He fished through his pockets for his wallet and threw some galleons on the table before standing up and giving her his best puppy-dog-face.

"I'm sorry, Mione, really."

"Don't call me that." She snapped.

He turned and headed for the door; she stood and followed after him, screaming at him as he walked briskly down the busy street.

"HOW DARE YOU RONALD WEASLEY. THERE WAS NO NEED TO DRAG ME OUT FOR DINNER JUST TO BREAK UP WITH ME BEFORE THE APPETIZERS EVEN SHOWED UP. YOU BLOODY IDIOT. THAT'S RIGHT WALK AWAY. WALK AWAY LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO YOU. . . YOU COWARD!"

The anger dried up as he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Hermione suddenly felt very, very empty. She ungracefully collapsed on the pavement and put her head between her knees while racking sobs tore themselves from her sore throat.

A light tap on her shoulder caused her to whip her head up and peer at whomever had the death wish to disturb her.

"Hey,"

She squinted in the dim twilight to see stormy grey eyes staring down at her. He was as stoic and handsome as she remembered. His tall, lean frame appearing even taller and more filled out from her current perspective. Or perhaps, he'd grown into his figure since they'd graduated from Hogwarts?

"Here."

He held out a hand with a single, ivory handkerchief in it. When she didn't take it, he arched an eyebrow – just one, which was something she was innately envious of – and looked at her with such a calm expression, she couldn't help but feel immediately embarrassed of her current, chaotic state.

Her mascara must have run down her face and smudged around her eyes to make her look even more crazy as she violently wiped away the tears that clung to her waterline. She sniffled and rose to her feet – oh yes, he was definitely better looking than she recalled and certainly taller – then crossed her arms defiantly.

"I'm fine." She muttered.

"You don't look fine. Take it." He held out the white slip emphatically.

This time, she took it and dabbed at her eyes and cheeks, wiping away the makeup she resented even putting on in the first place.

"Do you always carry one of these around?" She'd meant for the question to be demeaning. But he didn't even blink.

"Yes. Mother insists I always have one on me." He pursed his lips and gave her a swift once-over. "For situations like this, I imagine."

"Like I said, Malfoy, I'm fine." She said.

"You know I don't believe you, right? Not after hearing that row."

"You heard that?"

He scoffed. "Granger, the whole block heard that."

"Oh,"

She shuffled uncomfortably between her feet, avoiding meeting his intense eyes.

"Not that the weasel didn't deserve every word of it." He added.

She looked up, "Yeah?"

"Don't fish for more." He reprimanded. "Though, I did enjoy that bit about how stupid he looked in that hand-me-down sweater."

"I didn't," She blinked, trying to recall exactly what she'd shouted in her maddened daze. "I didn't say that."

"No? Oh, must have just been in my head then."

"You haven't changed one bit, Malfoy." She ducked her head, hiding the playful smirk that spread across her lips without her permission.

"I beg to differ," He replied with a shrug of his sculpted shoulders.

"You know," he went on. "I was actually on my way to pick up some takeout when you so rudely interrupted my quiet stroll down the street with your absurd row. I do recall you screaming about how the pathetic weasel ditched you before the food came out." He arched a single, silvery brow. "Care to join me?"

She opened her mouth to protest, to swear that nothing could convince her to have dinner with him, when her stomach growled loudly enough for him to let out a soft chuckle.

"I'll take that as a yes, then."

Hermione cursed herself for withholding lunch in order to fit into the tight skirt, but her mind was promptly wiped blank as he gingerly rested his hand at her mid back, guiding her down the street alongside him. When she finally fell in step and held his pace on her own accord, he – albeit much to her dismay – removed what little pressure his hand had previously held and stuffed it into his trouser pocket.

They settled themselves at a table outside of the takeout restaurant and dug into their dumplings without much more conversation.

Hermione was thankful for the silence. It gave her time to go over what had just happened. It all seemed so surreal; like it was some strange dream that she was going to wake up from.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" She blurted out.

He arched a brow again instead of giving an answer.

"Well?" She prompted.

"You're too impatient, Granger. That much hasn't changed about you."

"You're evading the question, Malfoy. That hasn't changed about you."

He offered a shrug, "Would you rather I not be nice to you?"

"Answering a question with another question is so Slytherin of you," She commented. "But no. I prefer this Malfoy." She gestured to the one sitting before her.

"So why do you care, then?"

She bit her lip – and tried not to notice as his eyes dilated – "I'm not sure. I guess it's just because today just feels so upside down. Ron was a pompous arse. You're a gentleman. It's all very. . . strange."

"That's. . . fair, I suppose. Though, for the record, Weasley was always a pompous arse. You were just too naïve to see it." He said.

"Hey!" She flicked a bit of ginger at him. "Don't make me take back what I said about you."

"Did you just _throw food_ at me?" He gasped.

"Maybe I did," She smiled sweetly. "Maybe I didn't."

He smirked at her, "And now you're flirting with me? Fuck, Granger, I think you're right. I think today has gone upside down."

"If you're agreeing with me, then it clearly has."

He winked at her.

She shoved a dumpling soaked in soy in her mouth, furiously chewing to stop her from blushing. He was toying with her; she could tell from the lack of tension in his arms and shoulders as he reached for a napkin in the middle of the table.

He tentatively held it out to her.

Hermione eyed the napkin and instinctively recoiled, then wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands.

"No," he shook his head, then took hold of her slender wrist with one hand while dabbing at the corner of her mouth with the other. "Here."

_Here_.

Every time he said it, it was so commanding. The first time, it had caught her off guard. This time, it made her heart rate skyrocket. He brought the napkin to where her upper and lower lips met and dabbed purposefully with precision. His eyes darkened as he focused on the task. She felt her own breath catch as the scent of cedar and teakwood wafted through her senses. She watched as his eyes lifted to meet hers, and then he backed away with a sharp inhale.

In one movement, he dropped her arm and the napkin and stood abruptly at the side of the table. He patted his pockets and kept his gaze away from hers, but now she felt she couldn't tear hers away from him.

"I better go," He said.

"No," She thrust out her arm, taking a hold of his forearm and pulling him back toward the table. "Wait."

She stood, aware of her labored breathing and the wild look she must have in her eyes. She stared into his stormy, grey eyes contemplating her next move.

Everything that felt so strange and upside down to her, suddenly felt _right_.

Hermione often found herself caught up in the logistics of a situation; although, that particular way of thinking had gotten her out of as much trouble as it had gotten her into it. Hadn't Ron convinced her that taking a break from each other was _the best thing_ for their relationship at the time? Hadn't it been her ill-wit that told her to _wait for him_?

Look at how poorly that logical decision had gone.

For once, Hermione wanted to act impulsively. She didn't want to weigh the pros and cons of a situation. She didn't want to think about the tens of hundreds of possibilities that could stem from a single decision and what repercussions each possibility might have for her. She was _tired_ of having to be the logical one.

She was so, so tired.

All Hermione wanted to do was act in the moment.

So, she did.

She closed the distance between her and Malfoy and snaked an arm behind his neck, bringing his lips down to meet hers. She felt him gasp into her mouth and then return the forceful kiss with equal fervor.

Hermione broke away with labored breathing. Her eyes flicked up to meet his and she instinctively placed her fingertips on her warm, swollen lips.

Neither of them said a word for a complete minute.

The sounds of their ragged breathing encompassing the air around them.

Then, his hands cupped the sides of her face and dragged it upward to meet his. His lips were on hers again; his tongue brushing her bottom lip before sliding into her mouth. Her hands were pressed firmly against his chest, and she could feel the hard muscles contract as she tentatively lowered her hands to his abdomen. One of his hands had found its way to the small of her back and was pulling her in close, while the other was burying itself in her curls and tugging her head back.

When her hands found his belt, he pulled away forcefully; he left her wild and gasping for air.

"Granger," He huffed. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I'm not sure," She replied, her eyes never leaving his. "That's _why_ I want to do this."

"I'm not like what you said earlier. I'm not a good guy. I'm not different. I won't be nice to you." He warned.

"Good. I don't want nice. Nice decided it didn't want me anymore. Nice gave me empty promises."

She swallowed, her breathing still completely erratic. Though, based on the intense rise and fall of his chest, Malfoy wasn't in control either.

"All I know is that right now, I want you. I want you to make me forget about _nice_ and erase his touch."

"That," He replied. "I can do."

The logical voice in the back of her mind told her she'd likely come to regret what came next.

She promptly told it to _fuck off_.

* * *

His lips burned against hers as they stumbled through her flat. Amazingly, Ron had never kept anything at her place in all the time they'd been together, and perhaps that should've been a sign, but she it wasn't really at the forefront of her thoughts at the moment.

He flicked his wand to clear the small dining table of its décor and deposited her on top of it. It was _hot_. He hadn't even _touched _her yet and she was already more wanting and much more unwound than she had ever been with Ron.

It wasn't as if they'd had the worst sex, necessarily. But it most definitely wasn't _this._

No, this was astronomically better already. This was darkened grey eyes focused on her, silvery blonde hair that fell out of place and brushed up against her slick forehead, and skillful fingers that tugged at her clothing with so much haste it was as if they were on fire and he was trying desperately to free her from the flames.

Except, he was the fire. His touch was hot and burned her at every point of contact. His breath warm against her neck; his lips sucking on the fragile, thin skin. He was careful, though, and calculated. She doubted she would see any marks there the next day.

He brought her legs up to rest her ankles on his shoulders and leaned forward to stretch her hamstrings to their maximum, nearly folding her in half. She would be more impressed with her agility if he wasn't trailing his nimble fingers down her inner thighs and towards her –

_Oh_.

She inhaled a miniscule gasp as his fingers encircled her slit from the other side of her satin panties. She silently thanked her earlier self for being so eager to meet Ron and so hopeful for things to go well that she'd opted for sexier underwear than her everyday cotton. Arguably, this is a much better outcome than she had predicted when she slid the green satin on that morning.

His eyes flickered down and then met hers when they came back up. He arched a brow – she was really going to have to learn how to do that, it was so practical – and licked his lips pointedly at her.

"Green, Granger?"

She held back a whimper.

"Purely coincidence, Malfoy."

"Hmm. I'm sure."

His eyes never left hers as he slid the thin material to the side and began encircling her again, but this time with skin-to-skin contact. It drove her _mad._

With one swift movement, he pulled his fingers away and replaced them with his mouth. His tongue flicked against the satin material of her panties, soaking them more than they already were. She wanted to buck against him, to help release some of the building pressure caused by his tongue, but she couldn't because his palms were firmly pressing her hips and stomach into the table.

The inability to move was making her go insane. He wasn't even inside her yet and she was already completely unraveling beneath him. Torturously, he moved his mouth from her clit to trail along her inner thigh, occasionally nipping at her skin on the way up to her ankles. One hand held her against the table still as the other reached under her skirt and pulled her soaked green panties slowly up her bare legs.

He smirked at her before leaning in – again, bending her legs so that her knees pressed into her chest – and whispered in her ear.

"I think I'll hold onto these for now."

She nearly convulsed.

He ducked his head into the nape of her neck, pressing a soft, sweet kiss behind her ear, then down the side of her neck; at the same time, he slid one, then two fingers into her. She could feel just how slick she was already and if it wasn't so hot that he did this to her so quickly, it would be completely embarrassing.

He swallowed her gasp with his lips, then took her bottom lip between his and gently pulled on it between his teeth. She arched her back in response and quickly began to unbutton his shirt. Not that she wasn't loving giving up control to him under these conditions, but she wanted to see him gasp at her touch. As her cool hands found the warmth of his lower torso, she was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath and the reflexive hardening of his muscles.

His fingers were excruciatingly slow; going inside her and pressing up against the ball of nerves with a precision meant to completely undo her, and then pulling out of her when she was tantalizingly close to breaking.

"What are you waiting for?" She rasped.

His shoulder shook with laughter as he lowered his mouth to her breasts and flicked his tongue against a nipple.

"You're too impatient, Granger."

She threw her head back with every intent on groaning at his torturous pace, but instead a small moan escaped.

"You don't play fair." She commented, readjusting herself to try and reach for his belt.

"You have no idea," He replied.

Malfoy stepped away from the edge of the table, allowing her to prop herself up on her elbows, and swiftly removed his shirt along with the rest of his clothing. Hermione had to physically bite down on her tongue in order not to comment on his length. It was impressive to say the least.

She sat up and yanked her top and bra off and flung it to the side. To remove her skirt, she'd have to stand; Malfoy shook his head at her, giving her a stern look as he sauntered back towards her.

"Here," – _Fuck – _"Let me."

He knelt down – because he was so fucking tall – and placed himself between her knees. He rested his elbows on her inner thighs and, without warning, slid them as far apart as she would comfortably let them go.

She swept away the silvery blonde hairs that fell from his face as he leaned in and pressed his hot mouth to her clit. His flicked against her while he slid a finger inside of her. Biting back a whimper, she took hold of the back of his head to steady herself as he lit a fire inside of her.

He drove her to the edge and back again; she was panting from being so close to release. Finally, he brought her over the edge, and she cried out with a soft moan as her orgasm rippled through her. His fingers guided her through the orgasm, helping her ride it out to its full extension.

Once the spots at the back of her eyelids faded and her scattered brain reorganized into focused thoughts, she was almost positive that had to be her first orgasm. Or, at least, her first epic one.

She lifted his head and brought his burning lips to hers, welcoming the hormonal direction of her mind to focus on one clear objective. Nothing else existed in that moment except him and her.

He slid and arm around her waist and hoisted her up, guiding her farther back onto the table as he followed her onto it. She hooked her legs around his hips and dug her heels into his firm behind.

With his teeth biting down on his lip, he angled his tip at her opening. She could feel her lungs collapse at the anticipation and snapped her chin up to meet his darkened, grey eyes. They were watching her, searching her face, and she felt herself fall into a deep hole within them.

Still not breaking eye contact, he slid his length inside of her and enclosed her gasp between his breath.

She let him set the pace.

He thrust into her again. . . and again. . . and again until both of them were panting, sweating, and so close to the edge that the lightest touch would surely send them both toppling over.

"Malfoy," She whispered, barely audible, into the nape of his neck.

He tensed above her, and she felt herself stiffen before her own release. Both of their muscles, previously tight, collapsed under the exertion and he fell on top of her; the sweat that built on both of their bodies creating a layer of heat between them.

"Granger," he murmured amidst the mess of her hair.

"Yes?" She replied, still trying to catch her breath.

"That can't happen again."

"It won't."

"Good."

* * *

The following night Hermione opted to go out to a local bar. She was single, after all, and with Malfoy upholding his promise of debauchery, it wasn't as if he was an option.

You would think that after their sexual order the night before that she would be exhausted, or at the very least, put off from trying to look for another encounter. Unfortunately, Malfoy had woken some deep, dark sensual demon inside of her that refused to leave her alone.

So, she went out for drinks.

Although, Hermione had been far too nervous to venture out on her own, so she'd dragged Luna out with her. Normally, Ginny would be her girlfriend of choice for any social outing, but she was currently traveling with her team and wouldn't be back in town for another few weeks.

It was probably for the best, though, considering she couldn't stop ranting about how horrid Ron had been to her. Better that Ginny now have to listen to her.

Arguably, Luna wasn't even that close of a friend to Hermione. They certainly didn't see eye to eye what with Luna constantly talking about things that Hermione doubted even existed; it was difficult to hold Luna's attention on any subject of interest to Hermione, and when she did manage to grab it, it didn't provide any substantial input for productive conversation.

But who else did she really have?

Harry was out of the question, for obvious reasons, and Ron was the entire reason she was even in this fucking situation.

So. . . Luna.

"You should really try my drink," Luna said.

Hermione knew she was talking to her despite the girl's eyes wandering along the ceiling.

"I'm good, thanks," She held up her own beer emphatically.

Luna simply shrugged and tipped her lilac-colored cocktail down her throat.

Hermione sighed. They hadn't even been there for longer than twenty minutes and she already wanted to go home. She had come looking for a potential date for the night, but after surveying the crowd, she felt instantly deflated. No one would compare.

She turned to Luna to tell her that she was going to go freshen up in the bathroom, but she wasn't beside her any more.

"Luna?" She asked, glancing around the bar.

Nothing.

_Great._

Hermione tipped the remainder of her beer back and let the empty glass thud against the bar as she turned and made her way for the bathroom.

It would probably be a good idea to freshen up – even though she had previously come up with that for an excuse to get away from the noisy crowd for a moment – and have a glass of water before attempting to apparate back to her flat, unless she wanted to end up spliced.

There were several separate doors for all occupants, so she angled herself toward an unlocked door and closed it behind her, letting the loud music immediately decrease to no more than muffled bass.

She stood in front of the mirror and splashed some cold water on her face before drying it off and patting down the back of her neck. Luckily her wild curls – no more unruly than usual – had maintained some form of order despite the humidity and crowds in the bar.

Hermione swore to herself never to do this endeavor again. She was better off sending a pathetic owl to Malfoy or researching how to pleasure oneself and just staying in for the night.

A moment later, there was a creak as someone began to open the door.

"Occupied!" She yelled over her shoulder.

"I know."

The sound of the door locking echoed in the quiet space of the small bathroom.

Hermione slowly turned at the sound of that voice, the one that sent shivers up and down her spine, the one that could whisper one word and have her already coming undone.

"Malfoy," She said.

"Granger," He replied.

"What are you doing here?" She asked.

"I suppose I could ask you the same thing." He smirked. "But, if you meant what I'm doing in this bathroom, well," His dark eyes burned intensely into hers. "Isn't it obvious?"

She fought back swallowing the lump in her throat, and instead countered with, "I thought you said we were a one-time thing. That _I_ was a one-time thing."

"Maybe I did," He shrugged, then stepped closer to her. "Maybe I didn't."

Hermione backed up instinctively and found herself backed against the sink and counter.

"I specifically recall that you did," She retorted.

His smirk widened into a mischievous grin.

"Would you rather I leave you to it then?" He argued.

She let out a shaky breath, "Yes," She lied.

Something in his silvery eyes flickered and told her that he wasn't expecting to be challenged, but that he _liked_ it.

"Granger," He said, taking another purposeful stride closer to her, "I'm finding that when it comes to you, I have very little control over my actions. It's unusual, to say the least, and I find it rather unnerving."

"I find that hard to believe," She said, her gaze dropping to his impeccable outfit and then back up to meet his stormy eyes.

If wanted a challenge, she would gladly give him one.

He shook his head, "And here I thought that _you'd_ be the one knocking at _my_ door. Well, I can't say I'm not surprised."

"Is there something that you want, or are you just here to taunt me?"

His eyes flickered up and down, taking in her current attire – a blazer pulled over an appropriately fashioned dress Ginny had gifted her for a birthday (which meant it was definitely sexier than anything Hermione would've chosen on her own).

"You know what I want."

"Malfoy," she tsk-ed, "I'm afraid I'm not what you're looking for. I can't promise I'll be nice to you."

His eyes glinted as he closed what remained of the space between them and tucked a loose curl behind her ear, then leaned in and whispered, "I don't want you to be nice to me, Granger."

There goes that telltale shiver.

She reached behind his neck and tugged at his hair so that his face was angled with hers; his eyes focused on her. She licked her lips pointedly and nudged her chin up, brushing her nose against his.

"Good." She whispered back.

He lifted her and placed atop the bathroom counter in one swift motion. Her hands instinctively found the buttons of his shirt and roughly began undoing them; a hiss escaped his lips as her cool touch scraped against his warm chest.

His hands tangled themselves in her hair, tugging the unruly curls out of her ponytail and letting this softly bounce against his cheek as he leaned in to roughly kiss her. He found himself, once again, lost in her.

She had that unnerving effect on him recently and he hated it.

He hated not being in control.

Abruptly, Malfoy broke away and dragged a hand over his mouth, wiping away any trace of her taste. He gasped for air as he let his fingers find their way up his shirt, buttoning the expensive fabric and tucking it back into his trousers.

"We can't keep doing this," He said.

"Why not?" She frowned.

Malfoy closed his eyes and tried to regain any sense of control over his more primal urges to take her back in his arms and never let her go.

"I don't want this." He replied, his eyes opening and focusing on hers.

"Didn't you just say that you did?" She countered.

He raked a hand through his hair. "No, I mean, I don't want _this_." He gestured to the space between them. "Us."

She tilted her head to the side. "There is no 'us'." She said.

"I know," He agreed. "There can't be, either."

"I never said I wanted there to be. I'm not trying to hold you to any sort of standards or trap you in a relationship." Her voice was calm, cool, and collected.

"Good." He said, suddenly feeling the fight leave him.

"This is just sex, Malfoy. I'm well aware of that." She paused, eying him carefully. "Are you?"

"Yes, of course!" He snapped back.

"Well," She said, then hopped off the counter and pulled her dress down from where it had been hitched up above her hips. "I'm leaving. Are you going to come with me?"

_No_. He told himself. _Absolutely not_.

"Yes." His voice betrayed him.

"Good."

She moved around him to unlock the door and step outside; a minute later, he followed.

* * *

"This really can't keep happening." He admonished.

"I know." She mused, running a finger down his bare chest and back up. "It's very unhealthy."

"Revolting." He amended.

"Despicable."

"Nonsensical."

"Ooh," Her eyes flickered up to meet his with a wry grin spreading across her lips. "That's a big word for you, Malfoy, I must say I'm impressed."

He scoffed. "Oh, please, Granger, as if you didn't know how devilishly handsome and tremendously intelligent, I was."

This time, she snorted under her breath. She sat up and shifted to pin him beneath her hips on her bed, then wrapped her delicate hands around his shoulders to hold him down.

"Tremendously intelligent?" She teased with a smirk.

"Without question." He replied, feeling his heart rate increase at her touch.

She leaned in closer to him and pressed her chest against his; the soft cotton of one of his old shirts loosely hanging off her shoulders. She looked good in her Slytherin Quidditch ensemble, and he thought for a moment how much of a shame it was that she didn't like flying or he imagined she would've looked even hotter in a quidditch uniform.

"Devilishly handsome?" She pressed, a whisper against his neck followed by a soft kiss.

"Obviously."

She nipped at his neck before straightening her back and peering down at him from between the wild frenzy of her post-sex curls.

"Arrogant arse," She chided. "Where do you get the idea that you're so good-looking, hm?"

"Well," He smirked. "I do happen to have the brightest witch of her age straddling me, and" he emphatically angled his head towards the clothes strewn over her bedroom floor, "her panties are somewhere over there, as I recall, which means," – he flipped her over and pinned her beneath him, then slipped his hand between her thighs, rubbing his palm against her clit until she let out a soft moan – "that I must be handsome enough to entice her while also being clever enough to keep her."

Her hips instinctively bucked against his, giving in to his touch as she always did. To be fair, it was unequivocally two-sided seeing as he melted under her touch in a similar fashion.

"Keep her?" She breathed.

He focused his darkened, stormy eyes on her, then watched her bite her lip as he slid a finger inside.

"Yes," – he kissed her chin, her jaw, her neck, her collarbone – "Is that all right?"

Her nails dug into his back and drew him closer to her.

"Yes."

He grinned wickedly against her breast before taking a nipple between his teeth.

She inhaled sharply as withdrew his finger and slid himself inside of her, rubbing his thumb against her clit.

"Good." He smiled against her lips.

"Good." She agreed.

* * *

**A/N - **A short ficlet because I was in a smutty mood after listening to some songs and needed to get this idea out of my head lol. I'm currently working on my next WIP (I decided not to post the twisted fairytale in this collection because I've expanded it into an entire story of its own) and am in desperate need of a beta reader so, if you're interested please PM me. Thanks xx


	8. I Forgot That You Existed

**I Forgot That You Existed**

_Rating: _T (mostly)

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Hansy (Harry x Pansy) and Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary:_ Hermione suffers a traumatic brain injury that leaves her with little recollection as to what happened over the past five years. Including her marriage. Meanwhile, Draco spends every day helping her heal as well as trying to win her over… again.

—

WINTER

—

The blinding sunlight shone through the battered curtains causing her to blink several times. She winced from the sudden movement as her hand instinctively lifted to cover her face from the unwelcome light.

With a slight turn of her head away from windows, she noticed a pair of large, green eyes boring down on her.

"Good morning, dear."

She quickly noted the thick green robes on the elder woman and a voice in the back of her head reminded her that the woman who was currently adjusting some vials on her bedside table was a healer.

"I dare say, we were all wondering when you'd wake up." The woman smirked, then shot a disdainful look at her. "I can't say I'm pleased that Herbert has won the bet, but nevertheless I am delighted that you're finally awake!"

Her throat felt dry, but she managed to croak out a response.

"Finally awake?"

She twisted her head and ignored the pain that shot up the back of her skull to get a better look around the room.

The small, well-lit (Too well lit if you asked her. Honestly, how lucrative were their pockets to be able to fund _this_ insane amount of luminescence?) room had very little in it besides the cot in which she resided, a stuffy armchair in the corner, and the bedside table with the bounty of potions and vials.

"Where am I?"

"St. Mungo's, dear."

St. Mungo's.

That same voice in the back of her mind whispered something about the meaning of such a place in a very bookworm-textbook-ish phrase.

"Why am I here? What happened?"

The woman stopped what she was doing - sending a message via owl - to fix her with an embarrassed smile.

"Oh, dear. I see that I've handled this introduction rather terribly." She sighed and moved to sit at the end of the cot. "Let's start with the basics, shall we?"

The woman patted her leg affectionately, then squeezed it as she continued.

"You've been in an accident. You suffered a severe injury to your brain, specifically to your hippocampus. You may experience some confusion and disorientation as well as anger and frustration as you recall your memories."

"My what?" She gasped.

"Your memories. It's unclear whether or not the damage to that part of your brain has had an impact on your short-term memories, long-term memories, or both."

With a sad, wayward smile the woman pulled a deck of cards out from beneath her emerald robes and flipped the first card.

Without hesitation, she identified the object.

"A wand."

The healer nodded and flipped to the next one.

"Hogwarts."

Entirely too many cards later, she crossed her arms and glared at the healer.

"What the hell was the point of that?" She snapped. "I know very well that I'm a witch."

"So it seems." The woman responded completely unaffected by her tone. "What's your name?"

"My _name_?"

"Yes."

"This is absurd - it's - I - well - "

Her mind went blank. Her name. What was her _own name_.

"Hmm." The healer solemnly nodded. "Don't worry, my dear, your memory will return. It may take some time, though. Fortunately, I believe your husband is quite attentive to your needs and will be unequivocal in your recovery."

"My husband?" She stammered.

—

Draco pushed through the "Warning: Condemned Building" signs on the double doors and walked briskly into the red-brick wall on the far side of the old department store.

On the other side of the magical barrier, (See: Platform Incredulity of 1991) there were several witches and wizards crammed into the abhorrently crowded waiting area with a wide range of what seemed to be mild - as far as his perspective had been the last few months at least - maladies.

He tapped the edge of the countertop as he passed by the receptionist's desk and into the lift.

"Morning, Mr. Malfoy." The welcoming witch grumbled over her shoulder as she peered at him over the looming pile of paperwork.

Draco gave a curt nod and reached for the upper handle of the lift as it lurched backwards and shot him up to the fourth floor.

He spotted the healer that had been overseeing his wife's recovery and immediately came to a halt at her sunken shoulders and vacant expression. She acknowledged his stiff stance with a wave of her hand toward an open seat in the corner of the hallway.

"She's fine." The healer blurted.

The immense pressure on his chest lightened at that. But only infinitesimally.

"She can't recall anything that happened prior to the accident." The woman continued. "Honestly, I'd be surprised if she remembers anything after Hogwarts. But don't worry, her new scans are promising so it may take a while for her to recover her memories, but I have no doubt they'll return. For the most part."

"_For the most part_?" He hissed.

The healer started on about some deeply scientific explanation behind her memory loss and the general inconsistency of traumatic brain injury, but he simply tuned her out in favor of his own inner turmoil.

He sighed and glanced toward the room he'd spent countless nights in over the past few months. His back still ached from the hospital's hideous armchairs (because despite every effort on his part, the hospital refused to re-furnish the rooms. Instead, they put his rather generous donation toward other non-delicacies.) to the point that Draco had perfected the charm that would alleviate his pain.

"Does she know who I am?"

He tried to hide the concern in his voice, though he was quite certain from the sympathetic look on the healer's face that he's been wholly unsuccessful.

"It's possible, given her memory from Hogwarts remained wholly intact."

"No," he clarified, "Does she know _who _I am?"

"No," she replied. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Malfoy."

She was sitting up with a book in her lap (He'd made sure to bring several of her favorites so that he could read them to her and bring her some form of comfort during her coma. As it turns out, he'd guessed correctly in that _Hogwarts: A History_ would be the first she'd pick up from the teetering stack when she woke up.) and that signature look of engrossment swept over her face.

"Don't you ever get tired of reading that boring book?" He drawled as he stepped further into the room.

Her head snapped up and he noted a wince give way for an instant before she focused her widened eyes on him in their typical skeptical fashion.

"Malfoy," she sneered.

He refrained from expressing any discontent at the tone in her voice. The one she used frequently throughout their school years.

"Granger,"

He countered with the familiar name and tone he frequently used in their time at Hogwarts.

"Granger," She repeated, tasting the word on her lips. "Hermione Granger."

Her eyes lit up and he felt a flutter in his chest.

"I'm Hermione Granger." She started more firmly.

"Yes, you are."

He turned to the healer and gestured to the door, "May I have a moment alone with her?"

"Of course," she replied with a tight smile.

When the door slammed shut, Granger immediately threw her legs over the bed and tried to stand up, bearing most of her weight on the rim of the cot. She didn't have a wand brandished in her hand (it was back at their home, but she didn't know that) but she still held it out to him in a defensive manner.

"Stay away!" She cried out. "I know why you're here."

"Is that so?" He arched a brow. "Do tell me."

"Nice try, Malfoy. You can't trick me into revealing anything about Harry's whereabouts."

"Potter?"

"Yes," she scowled. "I know you're here to do Voldemort's bidding. I won't help you. You won't find Harry."

"Find… Potter?" He repeated slowly.

Before she could dispel another round of confusing accusations at him, the door burst open to reveal the man in question, followed by a childish figure with equally messy hair protruding from her two plaits.

"Hermione!" He exclaimed, then ran between them to engulf her into an enormous hug. "I'm so glad you're ok!"

"I - " she glanced between Potter and Draco before shoving him back towards the door. "Harry, you can't be here! Malfoy will call _him_. You have to run, you have to - "

Draco watched, amused, as her frantic gaze fell to the toddler clutching onto Potter's leg.

"Hermione?" Potter said. Then, he turned to face Draco with the same quizzical expression. "What is she on about? Who's _him_?"

"The Dark Lord." He responded nonchalantly.

"Oh, Godric." Potter glanced back and forth between he and Granger. "How much does she remember?"

"Not much."

"Well, why haven't you told her?" Potter pressed.

Draco sighed. "I was just getting around to it, _Potter_, when you so rudely interrupted with your germ-ridden offspring."

"_Germ-ridden_?" Potter repeated, aghast.

"Yes, have you seen where she puts her tiny, filthy little hands?"

As if to demonstrate exactly what he was accusing her of, the toddler sucked on the fingers of her hands before tugging at her father's pant leg for him to pick her up. Despite Draco's repulsive frown, he did so and allowed her wet fingers to poke and prod at the ear and cheek she had access to.

Draco raised a brow pointedly.

_Piss off_, Potter mouthed as a reply.

"I'm just saying," Draco added. "Pans would never have brought her to St. Mungo's."

"That's because she's afraid this little one might catch something or cause some unfortunate scandal that might end up in the _Prophet_."

"Her fears are not entirely without reason." Draco retorted.

"I'll let her know you think so," Potter replied.

"Will someone please tell me what is going on?" Granger snapped from her new position at the end of the cot. "Why would Harry talk to _Pansy Parkinson_ for you, and who the bloody hell is that child?"

"Hermione!" Potter gasped. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a set of earmuffs and settled them onto the young girl on his hip before directing and accusatory look at him. "Will you talk to her already?"

"Fine." He snapped at Potter.

Then, his lips quirked into a mean, little smile as he directed his attention at the bushy-haired witch in the hilariously oversized hospital gown.

"The child is Potter's… and yours."

"WHAT?" She screamed.

At the same time, Potter's eyes widened and he threw a defensive hand out to her, "No!"

"HARRY POTTER, I SWEAR - "

Draco suppressed a laugh at the chaos that erupted before him; Granger looked murderous while also maintaining the manic expression of guilt as Potter, ever the doting father of course, attempted to subdue her rants while also fastening the earmuffs to his child's head.

Eventually, Granger quieted down enough to listen to Potter.

"If she's not mine, then whose is she? Is she really yours?" Granger asked, then shook her head and amended herself. "Yes, look at that hair. She has to be yours."

"Hey!" Potter exclaimed.

Draco had to bite his lip to refrain from doubling over. Godric, he loved that woman.

"Oh, no." Granger's hand flew up to cover her mouth. "Harry, _that's_ why you were going to talk to Parkinson for Malfoy?"

"Yes," he replied gruffly. "She's my wife."

"Your _wife_?"

He nodded, then rocked the toddler in his arms before sheepishly adding, "We've been married for three years."

Draco watched as she glanced at the child - conveniently nearing three years of age - and bit back a smirk as the realization dawned on her.

Unfortunately, his amusement was short-lived as her realization directed itself toward other time-related revelations.

"How… What…" She paused and collected herself. "What year is it?"

Potter bit his lip, and turned to Draco with an apologetic frown.

"It's probably best that I go," He offered. "I'll tell everyone that she's ok. You'll owl us when we can visit?"

"Don't count on it."

"Thanks."

The door slammed shut behind Potter leaving he and Granger alone in her small hospital room, both clearly uncomfortable at the looming conversation.

"January 14, 2003."

"2003?" Her frown deepened.

"What's the last thing you remember?" He pressed. "Before the accident."

"I don't even recall the accident." She confessed.

Draco sighed inwardly, but remained standing with a hand resting on the cool metal surface at the end of her cot.

"What do you say we go home and I'll help fill you in over some tea?"

She humbly nodded, then blinked several times and looked up at him with curious eyes. It was a look he was too familiar with: it meant she caught something that he had not intended to let slip.

"Go home." She repeated slowly. "As in, _our_ home?"

He searched her face, memorizing each part of it in case she decided he wasn't good enough for her anymore. In case, she decided, this memory loss would be a good chance to start over without him in her life. To never truly recover all of the happy memories they made together that overshadowed the bad ones from their time at Hogwarts.

He felt the panic settle in as he feared she would reject him. Reject them.

"Yes." He finally ventured.

In the moment that she took to respond, Draco worried that she may never recover their happy memories or the feelings they developed over the last few years, and vowed to himself that given the opportunity, he would ensure that never happened. That she never went a day questioning his affection for her.

"I suppose that's all right." She muttered.

The healer appeared with discharge forms for them both to fill out before they could leave the hospital.

"Now, dear," the woman began.

"Hermione," she cut in. "My name is Hermione Granger."

The healer offered her a wry smile. "Very good, Hermione. You are already recovering quickly."

Then, the woman turned to Draco and flicked her wand so that a box of materials appeared in his hands. He sunk a bit at the sudden onset of heavy weight before managing to mutter a levitating charm.

"Persistive therapy will be necessary. Luckily, most of Miss. Granger's physical injuries have healed so, those will require little attention. However," she fixed her intense gaze on him, "her cognitive recovery is still in its early stages. She should be able to fully recover her memories in time, especially if you are diligent with the memory exercises we've provided for you. Several charms and potions are also recommended in that pamphlet."

Draco nodded his understanding and led Granger to the lift and down to the ground floor where there was a floo in the corner of the still crowded room. He placed a hand gingerly on her lower back to guide her away from the man with tentacles for fingers.

—

Hermione stepped through the bright green flames and into the threshold of what seemed to be a hotel lobby. Upon closer inspection, however, she noted it was the lobby of a very posh flat complex.

The plump, red-faced man behind the counter stood with an enormous grin fixed on her and the tall, blond man beside her.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy!" He greeted. "I can't believe it's been so long, thank Merlin you're doing better!"

"Grover," Malfoy said. "I think it's best if we hold back our enthusiasm a bit. Miss. Granger requires additional time to fully recover. You understand, don't you?"

The man's cheeks deepened in color at his presumptions and quickly stammered out an apology to them.

Hermione, feeling completely lost - as was her near constant state since waking in the hospital that morning - simply offered a polite nod and followed Malfoy into the lift at the back of the room. She tried to avoid eye contact with him through the mirrors surrounding the walls of the spacious lift and instead directed her attention to her dirty trainers. She recited the Laws of Transfiguration inwardly in order to calm her nerves.

Semantic memory was the one thing she found had not been detrimentally affected by her injury, and so, it served as a way for her to cope with her new surroundings. Facts and procedures proved not only well-ingrained, but also quite useful.

For example, if she didn't recall the way the magical world worked, she may have found herself inconsolable at the sight of charmed brooms and dishes flying about the entertainment space of the flat they'd stepped into.

"It's not usually quite this messy, but," Malfoy shrugged and draped his coat on the hanger by the door before offering to help her with her own, "ever since you demanded that we release the house elves, it's been more time consuming to tidy up."

"Oh," was all she said.

In the back of her mind, an image flashed of her providing three house elves with ill-fitting shirts and recommendation letters as she ushered them out of the heavy, black walnut front door.

"_Go on now!" She exclaimed, clasping her hands together as the trio stumbled out into the foyer and apparated._

"_Mother is going to be furious." A voice said from behind her._

_She smiled to herself as arms wrapped around her torso and tugged her into a warm embrace emanating with fresh pine and teakwood._

"_She ought to follow in your footsteps. They deserve better working conditions!"_

_She could feel him roll his eyes as his chin rested atop her messy hair._

"_We _did _give them better working conditions. Yet, you still let them go." He protested._

_Hermione shrugged nonchalantly._

"I - I think I remember that." She added hesitantly.

Malfoy scoffed, "Of course, _that_ would be the first memory you recollect." At her curious expression, he continued. "You dedicated a great deal of your time to that cause over the past few years."

"Is that why I do? Is that my career?" She asked him.

"No, it's more of a passion, side project of yours. Though, you do work in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." He replied.

"In the Ministry."

It wasn't a question, which Malfoy registered quickly, and nodded his appreciation of her recollection.

"But," she frowned, recalling how she founded the house elf movement while in school (which apparently she had long since finished, though the details of such were fuzzy). "don't you practice the maltreatment of house elves? I remember you as one of my organization's nemeses."

His lips quirked up. "Yes. S.P.E.W. A dreadful name befitting of a dreadful cause."

"If you still hate it so much, then why did you let your - err, our - house elves go free?" She persisted.

At that he shrugged. His grey eyes bore into hers before he turned away and muttered, "You asked me to."

Hermione felt immediately uncomfortable, which he seemed to pick up on by traipsing over to the kitchen and putting some distance between them.

"Why don't you go take a shower and settle in a bit while I throw something together for lunch?"

She nodded and padded off to the right before stopping abruptly at the white door before her. Turning slowly, she addressed Malfoy.

"This is our bedroom?"

"Yes."

"I didn't even know. I just - I just headed towards it without realizing."

He nodded, "The healer said that might happen. Your procedural memory is intact, though you may find yourself questioning how or why you ended up in a particular room."

"Oh."

He moved across the expansive living room to join her in the narrowed hallway off to the right.

"Why don't I… clean up a bit… so that you can stay here. I'll grab a few things and move into the guest room for now."

"Thank you," she whispered.

With a forceful push, Malfoy disappeared behind the door. Hermione overheard several incantations accompanied by the shuffling of objects and drawers before he reappeared before her with a sullen look glossed over his darkened eyes.

She thanked him again, then entered the room. The first thing that stood out to her was the enormous canopy that hung above the equally enormous bed; the sheer, white drapes danced in the breeze that came through the room from the open french doors. Hermione could vaguely make out a city skyline from the balcony before directing her attention to the rest of the room.

Her feet padded on the dark wood floors as she explored the bedroom. For the most part, it was devoid of any indication that it was a room she shared with Malfoy. Even the stark white sheets and walls gave little away.

Then, upon closer inspection, she noticed the color difference on the dark wooden dresser and nightstands where several items must have blocked sun exposure.

Her fingers reached out to trace along the bookcase on the other side of the room and suddenly felt another memory leap to the front of her mind.

"_Granger, you can't possibly think _that's _the best way to organize the bookshelf?" He crossed his arms and leaned against one of the four posters of the canopy._

_She picked up another book from the box at her feet and placed it on the shelf, then sighed and turned to face him as she reached for another one._

"_It's the most logical way to shelf them." _

_He frowned, "No, my system of organization is much better suited."_

"_It's a good system," She offered with a shrug. "But it's not the _best_ system. Not for our collection anyway."_

"_Rubbish."_

_She smiled sweetly, "How about we use my system for now while we unpack and then, if you dislike it so much, we can reorganize the bookshelf with your system."_

"_Fine." He huffed._

Hermione blinked several times as she took in the titles of the books on the shelf at her eye level. That voice in the back of her head told her this system was the most logical, that it had been her preferred method of organization over the years.

She peeled off the worn jumper and jeans before climbing into the shower and letting the warm water wash away the chill that ran up her spine.

It was unnerving.

The last thing she remembered was apparating to Gringotts under the disguise of Bellatrix Lestrange with a plan to break into her vault.

Now, she stood naked before the steamy mirror of the master bathroom she supposedly shared with her husband. With _Malfoy_.

Everything seemed so foreign and yet… the memories that she'd recovered so far had felt familiar. They felt real. After all, no one had told her any of the things that she recollected, which meant that they could only be genuine. Right?

She wanted desperately to talk to Harry or Ron or _anyone_ from her previous life; the one that was nearly five years old (The unfortunate lapse in time of her memory had been proven true. She'd swiped a _Prophet_ from the reception area of the hospital amidst the chaos and had silently apologized for not legally purchasing the latest edition.) and determined to owl them as soon as possible.

With a towel draped around her, Hermione walked back into the bedroom and approached the large dresser. Her hand instinctively reached for the upper right drawer, but she blinked and pulled her hand back with a single, sharp movement.

After a deep breath, she shook her hand loose and reached out to the drawer again and pulled it open. It baffled her that the part of her brain that stored procedural and habitual mannerisms told her that this was her undergarment drawer - that she would find the socks below it and so forth - while her more conscious brain didn't recognize any of the clothing in her fingers.

—

Cooking had never been his favorite chore, but after years of his mother berating him for not learning the simplest of recipes in order to impress a potential partner, he had come to appreciate the calm that accompanied such a tedious task.

His eyes flickered up from where he was directing a sharp knife over a series of vegetables with his wand and settled on hers.

They were widened. Curious.

"Better?" He ventured.

She nodded. "Much, thanks."

Silence fell comfortably between them as he continued commanding ingredients between the kitchen island and stovetop. Eventually, she cleared her throat and caught his attention once again.

"Who is the Minister now?"

"Kingsley." He replied.

"Oh," she exclaimed.

Draco recognized the tone in her voice and pressed her, "What is it?"

"His reforms are very progressive. He's helped improve the Ministry a great deal since the war." She supplied.

"You remember the war? You know what he's done for society since then?" Draco asked, genuinely surprised.

"No," she countered sheepishly, then pulled a crumpled page of the _Prophet_ from behind her back and placed it on the island counter. "I read about his latest project. I don't remember anything."

Draco fought the urge to console her and stared at the completed dish rather than the defeated look in her eyes.

"I wanted to owl Harry and - "

"I already owled Potter, but feel free to send your own while I set the table." He gestured to the french doors that extended out of their living area to another section of the balcony. "You'll find everything you need out there."

"Right."

She stood and scampered out as he internally reprimanded himself.

At the end of their long, quiet lunch, Granger finally spoke to him again.

"Will you tell me what I've missed?" She asked.

He nodded, "What is the last thing that you remember?"

She bit her lip, then responded, "Gringotts. Horcrux hunting."

Draco racked his brain for the exact place and time she was referring to, then compiled a quick analysis of all that she would need to be filled in on.

He dove into the history of the end of the war, the defeat of the Dark Lord, but decided to opt out of providing her with much of their relationship's history. Instead, he told her of the current realities of their group of friends.

At her furrowed brows, he withheld a laugh and stood to retrieve a pile of books he'd set aside in anticipation of this moment.

"I grabbed these earlier, and I thought you might find them more satisfying than my terrible recollection of events." He handed her the stack of historical books published since the end of the war.

She reached for the books greedily and immediately flipped through the citations at the back of the book.

"I already checked their sources. They all check out, and you'll find them much more to your liking than anything Rita's published on the subject." He smirked. "You may be an insufferable swot, Granger, but you are a predictable one."

"That's not entirely fair, Malfoy, you have years on me." She taunted.

Draco felt his chest expand at the flirtation and indication that he not only knew her so well for years, but that she didn't resent it.

—

Hermione woke with a scream and the phantom feeling of falling in a dark cave. The sweat glued the cotton shirt to her neck and torso, and she flung the heavy cover off of her in desperate need for cool air.

The door swung open to reveal none other than Draco Malfoy standing before her with bare chest and black, silk pants.

"You ok?" He panted.

"_Malfoy?_" She immediately jumped out of the bed and panicked. "What are you doing here? Where's my wand? What the hell is going on?"

"Hey, hey," He hushed. "Calm down, it's fine. Everything's fine."

He cast a spell from his own wand and a celestial-like representation of her own face appeared in the center of the room, laminating the dark space with soft turquoise.

"Your - our - name is Hermione Granger. You suffered an accident that resulted in traumatic brain injury. The year is 2003. Draco Malfoy is your husband, though right now you've agreed just to be friends while you recover your memories…"

The incantation went on for a little bit, providing much needed information that allowed her heart rate to slow back down to a normal pace. When it dissipated, she met Malfoy's eyes across the room.

"That was brilliant," she said.

She watched as the tension lifted from his sculpted shoulders as his lips twitched up into a smirk.

"It was your idea, actually."

She laughed, "Like I said, brilliant."

His smirk turned into a disapproving grin, then he turned and left her with a roll of his eyes.

—

"CAN WE PUT THESE ABSURD CARDS AWAY?" Hermione shouted.

"They're supposed to help improve your memory recall!" Harry protested. "Come on, you nearly matched all of them correctly this time."

"I don't care if I matched all of them correctly with one hand behind my back and my eyes closed. I'm. Not. Doing. This. Anymore." She growled.

Eventually, Harry backed up with his hands up defensively and retreated to safety behind his wife's figure.

"Harry, what the - " Pansy exclaimed.

She broke off from her conversation with Theo and Daphne to direct an accusatory glare at the man glowering behind her.

"It's Hermione." He blurted out.

"Oh, stop acting like such a child!" She said. "I hardly have time to raise one, much less _two_."

Harry shook his head defiantly, "You don't know what she's like, Pans."

Pansy scoffed. "I'm sure she's perfectly reasonable, now will you bugger off?"

Theo chuckled, "I'm afraid he's right. Draco usually has the same fear in his eyes after a memory lesson with Granger."

"Hush, Theodore." Pansy reprimanded. "Nobody asked for your opinion."

Meanwhile, Ron approached Hermione with a stupid grin plastered on his face and his hands shoved into his pockets.

"You alright, Mione?"

(On the far side of Harry and Pansy's entertainment space, Draco had overheard the childish remark and gagged into his wine glass at the horrendous nickname.)

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her friend and hissed, "I'm fine, Ronald," she arched a threatening brow, "unless you plan on practicing childish games with me instead of treating me like a perfectly functioning adult?"

He threw an arm over her shoulder and lead her toward the remainder of the small gathering and sat with her on one of the sofas, then placed a glass in her hand.

The furious expression on her face lightening and she offered him a small, wayward smile.

"Thanks,"

"Don't worry about it," He said.

Despite her outburst at having to partake in the daily torture of memory cards among other punishments, Hermione was thrilled to be present. She'd been able to meet with friends and catch glimpses at her supposed current life over the past few weeks, but this was the first time that she was able to surround herself with everyone for an entire evening.

Initially, adjusting to the near constant presence of Slytherin's had been painful and awkward. However, she was slowly beginning to understand not only their dynamic, but also their deep connection to each other. It was cathartic to witness Malfoy in his element among his most trusted friends.

Harry and Ron seemed to fit in well enough among this group as well which allowed Hermione to relax a bit in their informal gathering for dinner and drinks.

If Hermione had possessed any previous affection toward Ron romantically - which is what she last consciously recalled - it was evident that it was not still present in her current state.

Besides the obvious fact that she'd apparently married an entirely different person - and Draco Malfoy, no less - Hermione caught a glimpse of their breakup when she first met him for coffee after waking from the injury.

It had been violent, emotional, and filled with loads of shouting, much like their entire friendship had been. However, after they ripped the band aid, they both realized that it was for the best. They were better friends. Luckily, they experienced this realization very early on into exploring their relationship post war so they had been able to repair their friendship easily.

"How do you feel?" Malfoy asked her once they arrived back at their flat.

"Good," she answered. He arched a brow which caused her to avert her gaze before adding, "It was nice. Seeing everyone."

"Not too overwhelming?"

She lifted her head to fix her eyes on his dark, stormy ones.

"No."

His lips twitched into a mean, little smile and she felt her stomach drop.

"Splendid. I'll let Mother know you're well enough to meet for tea or brunch."

"I - what - Mrs. Malfoy?" She choked.

"Yes." He settled into an armchair beside the fireplace with a book and a fresh glass of shiraz. "She's been anxious to see you since you've been released from St. Mungo's."

"Why?" She blurted before she could stop herself.

Hermione fell into the armchair facing his, and watched him cover a wince with a shrug of his shoulders.

"You two were quite close."

"Oh."

It was clear from his stiff posture and clenched knuckles that she was upsetting him and decided not to press the topic further. Why her relationship with his mother was causing him such anxiety was beyond her, especially since she last recalled Narcissa Malfoy being decidedly on the other side of the war and thus far from endearment and tea.

Hermione flipped through the pages of the book she'd picked up the other day (The previous books provided by Malfoy had been completed - and almost memorized - long ago, hence the current periodical in her lap. Thankfully, the Ministry had granted her a long leave of absence on top of her previous months spent comatose in order for her to fully recover while still allowing her access to their private library.) and paused at the end of one of the entries for prisoner sentences following the war.

"Malfoy," she said.

He murmured under his breath then dramatically flipped a page of his novel without looking up.

"Malfoy," she repeated. This time, his silvery eyes found hers. "I represented you during your trial."

"Hm? Oh, yes." He replied, catching the statement for the question it truly was as it was something she did often these days. "Something about it not being fair that I be sentenced to life in Azkaban for my crimes."

"Well, you were a pawn as much as Harry was. Besides, it's not like your crimes were violent or - and there is no logical way the Ministry can withhold _all_ war criminals in Azkaban if you qualify. I mean, could you imagine - "

Malfoy set his book down mid ramble and plucked her book from her grasp, then flipped the pages and scanned the paragraphs for a specific entry.

"Here," he said as he returned the book to her lap.

Hermione read the quote he was pointing to, and choked on a laugh that found its way up her throat.

"Merlin, I _am_ predictable."

"Told you, Granger." He smirked.

She continued to read until she reached the end of the entry of his sentence.

"So, you didn't go to Azkaban." She stayed. "It says here you were given two years of house arrest instead."

"No thanks to you," he commented.

She flushed.

Malfoy placed an old owl message in his page and set the book down on their coffee table for good. It was evident he would not be getting anymore reading done this evening.

He fixed her with an intense gaze, then said, "Granger, haven't you wondered how we ended up together in the first place?"

"I - what - "

"Two people - two very classically polarized people - don't just wake up one day married to one another." He countered smugly.

She frowned and snapped, "I know that." Her eyes searched his for a long moment. "Why didn't you tell me? When I woke up in the hospital."

He shrugged.

"You never asked."

She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'm asking now."

"Very well," he conceded. "You represented me and managed to miraculously reduce my sentence. Evidently, it wasn't enough for you. You felt some sort of survivor's guilt, I believe, and visited me annoyingly often at the Manor over the two years."

He paused and shot her a knowing look.

"Your unrelenting presence - along with the fact that you quite literally saved my life - is how you became good friends with my mother."

A small smile pulled at her lips.

"Let's just say one thing led to another and there we were."

Hermione felt a million questions come to the front of her mind, but he shook his head and halted her inner wheel from turning at the speed of light.

"I owe our first love to you. You were - _are_ \- the entire reason I have anything - any happiness - in my life. But I want to bear the weight of our second love." His eyes flickered to the floor. "If it's something that's even possible. I want to be the one who saves you. Who gives you a reason to wake up thankful every morning."

Her mouth fell open, but she promptly shut it again as his eyes lifted to meet hers. For the first time since she'd woken up, the mask he wore was stripped away leaving a bare, hurt expression across his face.

She felt herself leaning toward him; a yearning to comfort him and protect him from any pain washed over her.

They were close enough now that if either had wanted to, they could close the distance between their lips with a single breath.

Hermione thought she saw the indecisiveness behind his silver eyes land on a final decision and waited for him to kiss her.

Except, it didn't come.

Instead, he whispered goodnight then rose and stepped toward the guest room.

"Wait!" She called out.

He turned at the door frame.

"When - when did we get married? Were we happy? I don't - I don't recall wearing a ring when I woke up… what if I lost it?"

He sensed another ramble oncoming and cut in quickly.

"I'd rather not disclose the details of our previous relationship. I would rather you recall the memories than listen to my terrible retelling of what happened. You need to feel the memories, Granger. Not just hear them."

A genuine smile spread across his lips in the dim lighting.

"Yes, we were happy. As Theo would say, obnoxiously so. But as for the ring, you didn't lose it. I have it securely in my possession, and one day I'd like nothing more than to return it to you, but not until the time is right. Ok?"

Hermione had not anticipated that he'd be so forthcoming with information. She nodded and murmured her evening farewells and sweet dreams, then watched as Malfoy - an entirely different man than the one she consciously recalled existing five years ago - disappeared behind the door.

—

SPRING

—

"I have something for you."

Hermione turned at the soft knock on the open bedroom door to see Malfoy leaning casually against its door frame with a cocky grin spread across his lips.

"Is it my wand?" She asked.

"No. Not yet." He replied.

She crossed her arms over her chest, "Well, when _am_ I going to get it?"

"When you stop waking up in the middle of the night spewing threats at me."

She narrowed her eyes, but let her arms drop with a defeated sigh. While those incidents had drastically lessened over the past two months, she still frequently woke in a terror not knowing where - or when - she was.

Although, Hermione has yet to recover more than a few fleeting memories over the past few weeks, one theme had been undeniably clear: Draco Malfoy was to be trusted.

As far as loving him and continuing their married life… well… that was less obvious. But for now, she was comfortable, and really that's what mattered to her during her healing.

He'd been supportive - honestly, a bit more aloof since his confession - and had treated her like an amiable roommate with an odd, unspoken history.

Her eyes fixed on him as he commanded the space in the doorway of her - their - bedroom.

Malfoy strolled into the room and presented a bouquet of assorted office supplies. Her hand closed around the newspaper wrapping and was careful to avoid the straight edge that was ironically bending itself backward in preparation of snapping forward to strike her fingertips.

"Err, thanks?" She said. "I don't go back to work for a while, though."

His grin phased into a more genuine one, "I know."

"Then why…" Her voice trailed off as she gingerly placed the bouquet on the end of the bed and picked up the cardigan beside it.

Malfoy didn't respond, instead he shrugged and left the room while beckoning for her to follow him.

"Come on," he said. "We don't want to be late or Pansy will have our heads for breakfast."

Hermione shuddered at the idea of a furious Pansy and opted not to further question the bizarre gift.

They apparated into the foyer of the manor in which Harry and Pansy reside with a soft crack. Malfoy placed an enormous, expertly-wrapped box atop a table filled with many others and led her through the house and into the back gardens.

Silver and pink balloons moved in a synchronized fashion to the beat of the music emanating from the levitating speakers. Tiny transfigured dragons roamed the beautifully arranged gardens periodically breathing pink glitter.

Immediately, she and Malfoy noticed Harry and Pansy crossing the lawn at an alarmingly fast pace toward the birthday girl.

"ADA LILY YOU GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!" Harry bellowed.

The precarious three-year-old was running away from her parents as fast as her little, toddler legs could carry her. A peal of laughter escaped her as she waved two wands between her stubby fingers.

Pansy suddenly halted with a huff of indignation.

"Ada. Lily. Potter."

Each name a threat.

The toddler spun to face her parents and collapsed onto her behind in the grass. The hand not holding onto the wands found its way into her mouth and was soon covered in saliva.

Harry scooped up the child and pried the two wands from her surprisingly tight grip then handed them to Pansy who sauntered to his side.

"Honestly, Harry, you need to learn to be more authoritative than your three-year-old daughter." She huffed.

He frowned before turning his attention to the child on his hip and cooing at her while adjusting the head of the pink dragon costume she wore that had fallen so that it's gaping mouth had closed over her face.

"Parenthood suits you, Potter." Malfoy sneered.

"Quiet, Draco." Pansy snapped.

Hermione has to stifle a laugh at the pout that presented itself on Malfoy's lips for a brief moment before he resumed his usual smug expression.

"Come, Hermione, let's leave these boys to entertain themselves. I need a glass of champagne."

Pansy took Hermione's arm and looped it in her own. The two of them crossed the lawn to the bar that was set up outside.

The champagne was cold and crisp and was everything she needed in the moment. With a quick glance over the crystal rim, she could see that Pansy was in an equal state of euphoria.

"Ah," Pansy sighed. "Just what I needed."

"I haven't had one of these in… Oh, I don't even know how long!" She remarked with a nervous giggle.

"What do you - Oh - Oh _bloody hell_, Draco is going to murder me! You aren't supposed to mix that with your potions are you?"

A delicate, perfectly manicured hand flew up to cover her rouge lips and Hermione had to fight the urge not to outwardly groan at the woman.

"You're not going to take it away from me, are you?" She pleaded.

Pansy's eyes softened, "No, I suppose not. Besides, who is he to tell you what you can and can't mix? My mother did it in spite of my father after all and she's perfectly fine."

"I don't know if I would describe Mrs. Parkinson in those words, exactly."

The two of them turned to see who the remark belonged to and were delighted to see Daphne Greengrass appear beside them in all of her golden glory. Her blonde waves falling perfectly down her shoulders with one, jade - enviously the same shade as her eyes - studded beret pinned to hold one side of her part back. Hermione envied the effortless way she not only carried herself, but pulled off the gold satin jumpsuit that clung to her body.

"Daph," Pansy reprimanded playfully.

"What are you two talking about?" She prodded.

"I'm disregarding Draco's - and the healer's - advice." Hermione supplied.

"And I'm encouraging it!" Pansy added before clinking their glasses together and taking a long sip.

Daphne laughed melodically, "Well, I can't say I approve you ignoring advice from your healer, but I do love the idea that you're giving Draco a hard time."

"To giving Draco a hard time!" Pansy cheered.

"To giving Draco a hard time!" Daphne and Hermione joined in unison.

The three of them saluted and took a celebratory sip of their champagne before directing their attention to Harry, Draco and Theo. The latter two appeared to be teaching Ada how to terrorize the former with childish tricks.

Hermione felt her chest heave at the sight of Draco playing so well with the toddler; it made her wonder if becoming a father was something that he was interested in, or something that perhaps they had even talked about, and worried if she was somehow disappointing him with her slow recovery.

He was handling the entire situation unfathomably as it were. His ability to maintain a steady presence while giving her the space she needed to adjust to living with him and sharing a life with him was admirable.

She imagined in another life that it was possible that she could love him. Especially given how handsome and enticing he looked as he currently lifted the girl in his arms and flung her about like an airplane (The way his black tux clung to him also had something to do with the pit that had formed in her stomach, but that was beside the point).

Theo snickered as he made his way toward the trio of women.

Hermione felt pressured to ask the two of them something that had been on her mind all morning before Theo appeared in case he relayed their conversation to Draco.

"Do you two know if today has any significance in my life?" She asked.

Pansy's brows flew up, "You mean other than it being my daughter's birthday?"

"No," Hermione amended. "Not like that. I meant for Draco and I. Does today's date mean anything?"

"Not that I know of," she replied. "It's not your anniversary or anything like that."

"When's our anniversary?" Hermione clutched her forearm, desperate for any information she could get. When it came to their past relationship, Draco was a locked vault.

"Draco hasn't told you?" Daphne interrupted.

Hermione shook her head, then turned and batter her lashes at Pansy.

"Oh, no." Pansy shook her head and pried her arm free of Hermione's grip. "You are already going to get me in trouble for this little mishap," - she gestured to the champagne - "there's no way I'm telling you anything like that if he hasn't told you."

"Ugh!" Hermione frowned.

"Why do you think today means anything?" Daphne asked, bringing them back to the original topic in question.

She sighed. "Draco gave me a gift this morning, before we came to the party."

"What kind of gift?" They both asked simultaneously.

Hermione shifted on her feet and described to them as best she could what he had presented her with.

"I have no idea what that means." Daphne shrugged apologetically.

Pansy narrowed her eyes in thought. "It didn't trigger any memories?"

"No," She admitted. "I thought it would."

"Odd," Pansy remarked.

"It's possible that it doesn't mean anything?" Daphne suggested.

Hermione shook her head, "I doubt it. I mean, he seemed to think something of it. Besides, it's a weird gift to give someone without any pretense, and of all days?"

Daphne frowned, "Why don't you just ask him about it?"

"I did."

"Ask who about what?" Theo cut in with a devilish grin. He placed a quick kiss on Daphne's temple.

"Nothing, Nott. It's none of your business." Pansy chided. Then, she tugged Daphne toward the toddler that was waddling toward her.

Hermione moved to follow behind them, but a hand reached out and held her back. She met Theo's knowing gaze with a perplexed one.

"Draco's a very private person," he said.

She scoffed, "I'm well aware."

"But," he added. "If you need to know something - something perhaps he's less forthcoming about - I know that he habitually keeps his thoughts on page."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "Like a diary?"

His wicked grin returned.

"Precisely."

She wanted to ask him how he knew such a fact but found her mouth unable to pick itself up off the floor.

Though, it was clear Theo noticed her flabbergasted expression and took it as a way to brag about his singular knowledge.

"We shared a dorm at Hogwarts," He smirked. "Only so many secrets one can keep from another in an eight by ten room. Not to mention, he thought _under his pillow_ was the best hiding spot."

Theo rolled his eyes, threw an arm over her shoulder and shoved her playfully before striding forward to stand by Daphne's side as Pansy knelt and spoke to her child at their feet.

"Precious isn't she?"

Hermione turned at the cool voice behind her to see none other than Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy standing before her. She opened her mouth to stutter a - most likely an unintelligent - reply but was saved from having to do so by their son's sudden appearance.

"Mother." He greeted her with a formal kiss on both cheeks. "Father." A curt nod.

"Draco," his mother smiled. "You look radiant, and you," she turned her shockingly warm eyes toward her, "Hermione, you look more beautiful than I recall."

Hermione fought the urge to squirm under the woman's scrutiny as Narcissa's dark eyes wandered up and down her figure (Pansy, via howler of course, had threatened her into wearing a form-fitting lilac dress that did little to help her breathing, but did provide her slim figure with the illusion of curves).

"Err, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy." She finally said.

The woman's eyes glittered, "I'm afraid I'll have to intrude on your time, dear, and demand that we meet for tea. How does next Sunday at noon sound?"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but was once again cut off.

"Splendid! I look forward to seeing you then." Declared Narcissa.

"We better go, love." Lucius drawled; by the position of his hand at his wife's waist - and avoidance to meet Hermione's curious gaze - it was evident that he would rather be anywhere than in their presence.

"You're not staying?" Draco asked with an arched brow.

"Oh, no," Narcissa insisted. "I have meetings, of course, and your father," she paused to glance askance at him, "well, business as usual as they say."

Draco merely nodded and the two of them set off toward the house, disappearing into its expansive architecture.

"I thought you said your parents liked me." Hermione mumbled.

He shrugged.

"I said Mother likes you."

"Not Lucius."

Another shrug.

Hermione sighed; she supposed it shouldn't matter to her where on the spectrum their affection of her lied, but something in the back of her mind flickered with the desire to earn their approval, despite not having made her mind up about her own feelings toward their son.

—

The burrow was as Hermione remembered it: several fat brown chickens scattered in the yard, cluttered with items that varied from So Dusty It Must Not Have Been Touched Since The House Itself Had Been Built to Currently Zooming Across The Crowded Sitting Room With The Utmost Precedent, and Molly Weasley harrowing the guests as well as her own kin into abiding by her demands all the while Arthur Weasley seemingly ignored the high-pitched orders in favor of an amusing muggle artifact.

It felt like home.

It was unmistakably the most comfortable Hermione had felt since awakening in St. Mungo's. With Harry and Ron on either side of her in the much-too-small sofa, she felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her along with a breeze of relaxation, despite her current position as the recipient of Molly Weasley's badgering.

"Hermione, dear, do eat something. I'm afraid you've lost quite a bit of weight lying in that bed all those months. I won't have any child starving under my roof! Yes - That's it - Two more!"

She obliged with a tight smile between forceful chews of the tart pastry.

"Mum," Ron groaned. "She's_ fine_."

Molly muttered something unintelligent under her breath but decided to spare the children - though, literally speaking, they were very much not children anymore - another slew of demands. Instead, she made herself busy directing a mop around the kitchen in preparation of Ginny's arrival.

"Thanks," Hermione whispered.

Ron offered a wayward smile, "No problem. Really, Mum has sort of lost it these days. I suspect it has something to do with her having an empty nest and all that."

"Or everything to do with that," said Harry with a cheeky grin.

The three of them settled into easy conversation and nearly forgot why they'd all gathered at the burrow when the fireplace erupted into a bright, green flame and Ginny Weasley stepped out.

"Hermione!" She dropped her bag and ran forward to embrace her friend between her strong, freckled arms.

Hermione held her close, sighing contently into the familiar scent of jasmine that was Ginny's favorite shampoo. Memories of their time as flatmates after Hogwarts came back to her with astonishing speed to where she had to physically pull away from the other girl forcefully.

"Ginny," she smiled.

"Ginerva," Molly scolded, hands on hips, "What? Not as excited to see me? It's been - Oh, I don't know - nearly six months but don't mind me. Your own mother - "

Ginny recognized the nervous spiral her mother was about to descend into and hurried over to engulf her in a similarly choking hug.

Then, she moved on to Harry and Ron before pulling Hermione down into a seat at the kitchen table.

"I've missed you so much," Ginny confesses. "I came to see you in the hospital after hearing about the accident, but I wish I'd been able to come home sooner since you've been awake. I'm so glad you're ok."

"I've missed you too, Gin."

They caught up about nearly everything under the sun, from how Ginny's first season with the Harrowing Harpies had gone and her new boyfriend on an opposing team to Hermione's slow recollection of memories and how she was adjusting to resuming her old life.

"So, you're still living with Malfoy?"

Hermione notes the disapproval in her tone with apprehension.

"Yes, why? You don't like him?"

Ginny shrugged, attempting to play it off, "He was never my favorite."

She glanced past the redhead beauty to see her two best friends arguing over who was the better wizards chess player. Older never did mean wiser, Hermione lamented internally. Outwardly, she sighed and brought her attention back to the conversation at hand.

"Is there - I mean - he said we were happy." She stuttered.

Ginny arched a brow and then took an emphatic sip of pumpkin juice (Yes. In the middle of April. That girl _loved_ pumpkin juice).

"Well… I suppose what I'm asking is… were we?"

"If you ask me, I'd say to you're way too young to be settled into a marriage." A wicked smile crept up on her lips. "You should play the field! You're young, attractive - "

"You know, I feel like we've had this conversation before."

In fact, they had. A brief image flashed before her eyes of them a few years younger, lying on the floor of their old, cramped flat with a bottle of cheap wine between them as they hashed out the same argument.

"What I don't understand," she continued. "is why you're the only person, so far, who hasn't encouraged my reconnecting with Malfoy."

Ginny fiddled with the rim of her cup, avoiding eye contact. "That's an entirely different demon that I honestly don't have time for. I'd much rather spend my short holiday focusing on other things."

"But… We were happy, _right?_" Hermione repeated.

A scoff and an eye roll.

"Oh, you were happy all right. It was downright revolting, truth be told." Ginny turned and called over her shoulder, "Mum! Do you still have those papers on Hermione and Malfoy?"

"The ones after the trial?" Ron interjected.

From Ginny, "Those would be the ones."

Hermione: "Wait what?"

Harry: "Oh, wait! I don't think Malfoy wanted her to know about those."

Hermione: "Why not?"

While, Ginny: "All the more reason to look at them."

And, Ron: "You listen to Malfoy now, do you? You launder his clothes and fetch his morning periodical too?"

Harry, with a scowl and flushed cheeks, "No, but if Pansy gets wind that I was involved in this, I may as well kiss Saturday pick up games goodbye for the rest of the year."

Ron threw a heavy arm around Harry and gave him his trademark lopsided apologetic smile, "Whipped, mate. Completely bent."

Harry shoved Ron off of him and moved to stand behind Ginny's chair and squeeze her shoulders. Molly came rushing into the room with a stack of magazines and papers of all sorts following behind her; she directed them toward the space on the kitchen table between Ginny and Hermione with a swift flick of her wand.

There were so many photos and headlines it was almost nauseating for Hermione to follow along with, but one underlying message was vibrantly clear: she and Malfoy had shared a whirlwind, public romance dating back to when she first represented him in court all the way to their wedding. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ginny carefully slide a few of the papers under the table and whisper-scold Molly for 'bringing them down with the others'. She made a mental note to follow up on that particular interaction later.

For now, she opted to pursue a different line of questioning.

When Molly left the room once more, she craned her neck to address Ron who stood behind her, "I thought your mother didn't like Malfoy and I?"

"She's not your biggest fan, no. I reckon she wanted us to work out in the long run."

"Yeah," Harry added. "I bet she secretly still hopes your memory loss will result in you forgetting what a terrible match you and Ron were."

Ginny seconded his statement.

"Then why did she hold on to all of these papers of us? That doesn't make sense, does it?"

"Well, she may not be entirely fond of your matrimonial decision, but Mum is a bit of a sucker for a good romance story and… well… you get it."

Ron gestured to the stack on the table where the nearest headline read: _SHOCKING SECRETS REVEALED! THE REAL REASON BEHIND GRANGER'S SUDDEN INTEREST IN THE MALFOY TRIAL._

As well as: _GRANGER AND MALFOY SPOTTED SNOGGING IN DIAGON! IS HE TEMPTING HER TO THE DARK SIDE, OR IS SHE TRULY BRINGING HIM TO THE LIGHT?_

"Perhaps," Hermione lamented.

There was a sudden movement of air as a sleek, black feathered owl glided into the kitchen and settled atop the chair to Hermione's left. The familiar voice in the back of her head told her this owl was meant for her. She reached out and plucked the note from its beak, then rewarded it with a gentle rub and some treats from the oblong, decorative bowl in the center of the table.

It read: _Everything ok? _

She sighed and wrote back a quick response: _Yes. I'm perfectly capable of handling myself there's no need to worry about me._

Several minutes went by before the owl returned (Another memory lurched its way to the forefront of her mind and told her his name was Oberon and that he especially liked getting pet underneath his wings. When she did just so, he chirped happily) with another note.

He wrote: _Can't help it. Will you be home for dinner? I'll cook tonight._

Her reply: _Only if you're making that dish we had at your parents, the one with the chilled mango. PS - Maybe if I had my wand, you wouldn't be so worried._

She knew that first comment would help butter him up for her second statement. Another few minutes went by (but definitely less than before).

Him: _You remembered. Also - Nice try. See you soon._

She smiled to herself before tossing his perfectly scripted handwriting into the fire and attempting to resume her place in the conversation her friends were having regarding obscure quidditch rules rather than let her mind wander off to other recollections of notes her and Malfoy had sent to one another.

—

SUMMER

—

A speared sugar biscuit soared across the room and pelted Hermione in the shoulder. She turned to scowl at Malfoy through the raised cup of tea to her lips to see him wearing his signature smirk. The one that meant he was about to either infuriate her through nonsensical taunts or throw her across a piece of furniture and bury himself inside of her.

Whoa.

She blinked a few times and wondered where that second thought had come from. Her mind was still a bit fuzzy when it came to their past - the fact that he consistently withheld any information that would help jog her memory was specifically unhelpful - so, even though she was vaguely aware that his smirk had appeared before he bent her over their kitchen island, she couldn't recall an exact image or memory to support her realization.

Rather than have to delve into _that_ thought process, she glowered at Malfoy.

"What was that for?"

"What year is it?"

Her brows knit together, "2003."

"How old are you?"

"24." She sighed. "Must you always do - "

"Yes." He threw another biscuit. "How long have Daphne and Theo been together?"

"Married or…?"

Malfoy tapped his finger to his temple, considering, then replied, "Or."

She rolled her eyes, then moved from her position of leaning against the kitchen counter to move and sit on the living room sofa.

"I don't know when they started dating, if _you recall_ I wasn't in your house at Hog - "

"Yes, alright. Fine." He conceded. "Married, then."

"Four years, nearly five."

"Do you remember the date?" He pressed.

Hermione - who was tired of his frequent badgering of dates and times of events during the time period with which she had the most trouble recalling - muttered obscenities into her next sip of tea.

"Some time during the fall?"

Another biscuit, this time toward her lap.

"No. End of June."

"I was still correct, then. Nearly five years."

His eyes narrowed, "I wouldn't say correct, Granger. Lucky is more like it." He teased.

"Malfoy, this is absurd, I don't need - "

"Last one." He promised. She waited patiently for him to propose another question, during which he fumbled for something in his back pocket. "What department did you and I work together at the Ministry when we met?"

Hermione blinked, "We didn't work together at the Ministry."

His smirk evolved into a genuine grin, and this time he threw a different object into her lap.

"Very good, Granger."

Her fingers trailed along the vine wood, welcoming the plentiful rush of memories that it brought her, and slid it carefully into her waistband.

"It's about time," she remarked.

Malfoy stood and brushed the crumbs off of his trousers. He gave her a crooked smile as he made his way toward the front door.

"Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone," he called over his shoulder with one hand poised to call the lift to their foyer. "I'll be back in a few hours."

Hermione beamed and immediately set the teacup down the moment his silvery head disappeared between the metal doors of the lift.

She practiced a few basic spells and charms in order to reacquaint herself with her wand. It felt like an extension of her right arm, and in a way, it truly was.

Less than an hour later she was traipsing around the bedroom, frustrated. Every nook and cranny had been searched over the past few weeks - ever since Nott had dangled the prospect of a hidden entryway into Malfoy's inner workings - but nothing had turned up. Nothing under the bed, the pillow, the remainder of clothes in the drawers, etc.

Though, now she had the use of magic.

She imagined it would make her search for his diary fortuitous. That she would find exactly what she was looking for behind some hidden wall, or transfigured book, but again… nothing.

Hermione was about to give up for the day and return to her book on the history of laws that the Ministry passed over the last decade when a thought dawned on her: Malfoy had 'tidied up' the room the day she came home from the hospital without leaving the bedroom. The items - and hopefully his diary - must be hidden in this room somewhere.

Having already attempted _revelio _numerous places around the room, she succumbed to more complex measures.

Another hour or so later, and Hermione was successful. She brushed her fingertips over the moleskine notebook and noted the date of the first entry: _December 28, 1998._

A small voice - not the usual one that provided her with subconscious insight - reminded her that this was a direct violation of Malfoy's privacy, but she shook it off and read the first paragraph of perfectly scripted writing.

_I fear I have become one of those people. Not the ones who fear anything not marked with the obviously commercialized and utterly false trademark of 'Organic' with the superiority complex of someone who also runs (though probably half walks but won't admit it) marathons on holidays. No, I fear that I've become someone far, far worse. I've become someone who *shudders* keeps a daily diary. This is who I am now. Not the infamous junior Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Instead, the house-bound Infinitely Bored, Draco Malfoy. I suppose I should be thankful that I didn't end up in Azkaban. For life, no less. But still. The Manor is old and boring and deep down it still haunts me. Still reminds me of __him__. _

Hermione tried not to internalize his pain as she flipped through its pages in search for a very specific date.

The pages seemed to be expanding despite the size of the notebook remaining the same, and it occurred to her that Malfoy had charmed it to allow for an infinite amount of entries in a single notebook. Remarkable.

It was very clever spellwork and, needless to say, she was impressed.

Though, wholly bothersome in regard to her trying to find her needle in the haystack. She tapped the current page she was on (_July of 1999 _where he complains about melting in the summer heat wave that struck) with her wand and murmured a spell that would help her find what she was looking for.

The book flipped through its own yellowed pages to find the key words she asked it to, and luckily for her, that particular combination was quite uncommon.

It stopped on an entry dated _October 17, 2000_.

She skimmed the page and felt her own version of the memory present itself.

"_It's so tiresome," she complained._

"_What is?" Malfoy drawled, hardly giving her a glance as he was too preoccupied with building a fort from a stack of wizarding cards._

"_The idea that all women want is flowers and chocolate and jewels."_

"_What's wrong with that?"_

_She huffed, "Well, it's just so generic. There's absolutely no thought, no consideration, for her interests."_

"_And I suppose you'd be happy with a bouquet of office supplies rather than roses, then? Or a pair of leather bound books in place of ruby earrings?" He taunted._

"_Perhaps, I would. Those sound like perfectly logical gifts that one would actually _use."

She felt another memory flash before her eyes, where Malfoy picked her up from her shared flat with Ginny with a bouquet of office supplies - the very ones he recreated for her this past spring, presumably on the anniversary of the original event - and a crooked smile.

Their first date.

Hermione's shoulders sagged and she sat back against the bookshelf with a dumb grin forming on her lips.

There was a deafening thud that was characteristic of the lift arriving at their penthouse floor which caused her to erupt into a flurry and sprint to return the notebook to its original hiding place. When she did so, she caught a glimpse of a brass photo frame and squinted at the image it encompassed; it was Malfoy engulfing her in a hug and twirling her around with her giggling into his neck.

The familiar voice in the back of her mind told her this hiding place house not only Malfoy's diary, but also their precious memorabilia that had once been on display in her - _their _\- bedroom.

"Granger?"

She frantically cast a spell over the objects and scurried out of the room while throwing a new jumper over her head.

"Hungry?" He asked, holding up a brown bag of groceries.

"Only if it's organic," she commented with a sly smile to herself.

He blinked, "What?"

"Nothing,"

—

The bar was obscenely crowded, but Theo and Draco had managed to secure a quiet booth in the corner to enjoy their Saturday night stag night in peace. That wasn't to say they'd been able to secure such a luxury as an undisturbed booth far from the screaming, mingling crowd simply by name. No, their former identities as Death Eater's did nothing further their status in today's society. In fact, if it wasn't for their substantial wealth - which, remarkably, had endured despite the heavy fines they both faced after the war - they probably would've been turned away at the entrance.

But, as it were, there they sat.

Theo - who had been flicking bits of paper from the straw packaging at Draco when he wasn't looking, then acting like he wasn't the culprit though they both knew he was - took a swig of his whiskey before slamming it down on the table with a loud clang.

"What's up with you and Granger?"

Draco surveyed the room and gave an apathetic shrug.

"You still haven't told her anything?"

"No," he replied.

Another swig, and another slam.

"Well, why not?"

Draco glared at him.

"I want her to actually remember me, not just what she reads in books or hears from other people or myself."

"That's a load of codswallop," snapped Theo.

He remained silent, and opted to play with the rim of his glass between sips rather than talk about this any further.

Theo, however, in his usual way of meddling and never letting anything go until he'd rightfully spoiled it, did not remain silent.

"You're afraid she doesn't love you."

Draco's head snapped up with a glare focused intently on his friends smug expression.

"Why would she?" He lamented.

Theo scoffed, "You're a bloody idiot, you know that? It's not like it took her long to fall for you in the first go around. What makes you think not letting her in the second time will do?"

He tapped the glass against the table impatiently; he'd already asked their waiter for another round and couldn't stand to continue this conversation at the level of sobriety he was currently functioning at.

"You worried that because you don't have a pity case this time, she won't - what - feel the same way about you?"

"Will you knock it off," groaned Draco in response.

Theo's mean, little grin widened.

"That's it, isn't it?" He sat back and finished the drink in his hand, quickly followed by the one the waiter had set before him only seconds ago as well, then said, "I really am the only one with brains between our devilish duo, aren't I?"

"You are not," he snapped, "and will you stop calling us that?"

"What? Devilish duo? I quite like it."

He rolled his eyes, "It's ridiculous."

"No," Theo corrected, in the same tone that a preschool teacher would scold her students, "What's ridiculous is you pretending not to care for Granger as much as you do. Not being with her these past several months has been torture for you."

"How the fuck would you know?"

Theo sighed, "You're a very needy person, Draco, and unfortunately for you, also a completely open book."

He grimaced, "Shut up, Nott."

"I'm just saying, you should talk to her."

"Why should I take your advice, hm?" Draco asked. "Aren't you and Daphne in the middle of a row at the moment?" He lifted his third glass as evidence.

"That's different,"

"Right, ok." He replied sarcastically, and shook his head.

"Disagreeing on whether or not to expand the kitchen AND install granite countertops is decidedly _not_ the same as refusing to acknowledge any past history with one's spouse who may or may not remember being said spouse." Theo argued with the same tone and mannerisms of a drama queen - which Draco would argue was exactly what he was - who had just declared herself HBIC.

"Piss off,"

—

A week later, Hermione stood in the middle of the flat with her hands crossed over her chest.

"You look nice," Malfoy commented as he walked out of the guest bedroom and joined her in their entertainment space.

She was dressed in a mauve, form-fitted dress - with a perfectly matched coat - that stretched past her knees and made it very difficult to walk in, especially paired with the nude pumps.

It had been deep in the back of her closet, but when she touched it to try and assess why something so posh had found its way into her possession, a memory jumped out at her to help explain. The dress and matching jacket had been a gift from Narcissa for her birthday some time ago.

It was perfect for that evening's occasion.

"So do you," she replied coolly.

Which, he did. Draco Malfoy was many things, and smartly dressed was usually high on the list. This time, he wore grey formal trousers with a tight, black turtleneck and black leather shoes. She recognized them immediately as his I Have Somewhere Very Important To Be dress shoes.

"Are you going somewhere?" He asked, raking a hand through his perfectly combed-back hair.

"Are you?" She countered with her brows raised.

He sighed.

"I was going to tell you,"

"No, you weren't." She snapped.

Hermione pulled a crumpled up note out from her jacket pocket and held it up emphatically.

"I received this owl _days_ ago from your mother."

He groaned, "Listen, about that - "

"Were you even going to tell me about it?"

His mouth formed into a tight, thin line and he remained quiet.

"I thought so," she said in a dangerously low voice.

She could feel her blood boil and decided rather than hold back and subdue her anger to lean into it.

"I THOUGHT WE WERE A TEAM."

He stared at her, his silvery eyes widened slightly to reveal dilated pupils.

"I thought that's what marriage was!" She was still shouting at him, her voice ringing through the flat. "I thought it was two people who trusted each other, who confided in each other, who _shared themselves_ with each other."

"I was going to - "

"No, you weren't!" She screamed, throwing her hand out to gesture up and down at his outfit. "You were just going to go. Without me. Without saying _a word_. If it wasn't for Narcissa having an afterthought that I might not know how formal the occasion was supposed to be, then I would be sat here in my _stupid, cat-patterned pajamas_ wondering where the bloody hell you were going in your fancy shoes and you probably would have _lied to me - _"

"I wouldn't have lied to you." He muttered.

"Oh?" Her pitch too high. "Foregoing the truth is no better than outright lying, Malfoy."

She pinched the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb, then looked at his stiff stance with tired eyes.

"For fucks sake, you've been doing it for months and I let it go because it's not like I had any other option, but tonight? Really?"

His shoulders visibly tensed as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

"That's not fair, Granger."

"No, no, no." She glared at him, now, her voice having returned to its scarily gravel tone. "What's not fair is having no idea what happened to you over the past _five years_, and then, to top it off, to have your _supposed spouse_ lie to you every day and conceal your history even though he knows perfectly well all you do in your spare time is try to force those memories to come back."

She took a deep breath.

"You make any effort to recover my life, our life, very difficult, _Draco_."

His jaw clenched, "So, why don't you just leave, then? If you're so unhappy with me."

"BECAUSE THAT'S NOT HOW MARRIAGE WORKS!" Another deep breath, though more shaky. "I'm trying, Godric help me, I'm _trying. _Or at least, I'm willing to."

She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself and stop her fingers from trembling.

Her gaze fell on his intense, silver eyes.

"Are you?"

"Yes," he breathed.

Hermione sighed, then shook her head and defeatedly picked up her bag and turned toward the foyer, summoning the lift.

She turned over her shoulder to look at him, the picture of composed fury, and say, "Well, we'd better get going. We both know how your mother can be when people are late to her events."

"Yes, of course." He rebuked, moving to stand beside her.

A wave of guilt washed over her, and even though she knew perfectly well that she was not in the wrong, she decided it would be best to voice her next comment with a softer, more apologetic tone.

"Happy Birthday, Draco."

He nodded politely and ushered her into the open lift without a word.

There wasn't a direct floo from the lobby of their complex to the Malfoy Manor, and so the two of them had to apparate, instead. Hermione supposed calling the lift to the lobby from their flat had been moot, but it had helped her ease the tension from her neck and shoulders which was undeniably constructive when Narcissa's keen eye had taken them in upon their arrival. Though, not entirely convincing.

It was as if they had the words We Just Had The Row Of The Century scrawled across their foreheads.

Nevertheless, she was a gracious host as ever as she lead them from the front steps into the main entrance hall.

Except, Hermione stopped short as a particular room that still haunted her to this day came into view.

She felt her pulse quicken and breath catch as she stumbled backward, clutching her left forearm.

"Hermione, dear, do keep up," Narcissa called, but then seeing her state, instantly became more sincere, "Is everything alright? Wha - Oh,"

Her eyes widened as she swatted Draco's arm and forced him to turn and look at Hermione.

"Yes? Oh, _fuck_."

His observant gaze caught onto the reason behind Hermione's current breakdown much quicker than Narcissa, thankfully, and rushed to her side.

"Hey, hey, listen to me, it's ok. Everything's ok."

He continued to murmur reassurances to her while obscuring the room across from her with his body. His hands found their way to the side of her face, half entangling themselves in her curls while also creating a barrier that blocked anything that wasn't his face from her view. His hips pressed into hers and backed her up until her back hit the wall behind her.

"Look at me," he whispered, "Look at me, just me."

She heard him call out something to his mother through the roaring in her ears and the pounding of her heart threatening to break out of her chest.

Then, his fingers intertwined themselves in hers and the world swallowed them up.

His hands never left hers.

They held her close to him as he guided her across the lobby. They rested against the small of her back as she leaned into his chest in the lift. They wrapped around her wrist as he pulled her into the bedroom. They brushed across her cheek as he smoothed her wild curls.

He took off her pumps and tucked her under the covers, then whispered against her temple, "Get some sleep, Granger. It's ok, now. You're home."

And for the first time in their posh, penthouse flat, she truly felt like she was.

"Hermione," she croaked, breaking her silence following the Manor.

"What?"

"Hermione," she repeated. "You always called me Hermione in private, when it was just us."

His eyes darted frantically across her face, searching for something or so it seemed.

"Get some sleep, Hermione."

He stood from his position next to her, but she was quick to reach out and pull him back down next to her. Her delicate, trembling fingers clasped around his wrist.

"Stay with me," she pleaded.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

His eyes were on her lips.

"Don't leave me, Draco, _please_."

His gaze, dark and stormy, flickered up to search her face once more before he nodded slowly and settled down, cocooning her in his arms.

"I'm sorry I ruined your birthday," she murmured into the sheets.

His fingers reached around and secured her chin between them, forcing her head to turn and face him.

"You could never ruin my birthday,"

Her eyes wandered from his chiseled jawline, to his furrowed blond brows, then settling on his parted lips.

Without a second thought, she took his breath in hers.

He kissed her back with equal fervor, and wound his hands deep into her curls, holding her lips against his.

After all this time, it was just as she remembered.

At least, it was how her subconscious remembered, because her conscious memory still failed to recollect anything more solid than muscle memory or vague feelings.

His lips on her neck were as warm and pleasing as she felt they had been in another, past life.

Even when he pulled back suddenly, out of breath, and looked down at her with dilated pupils, it felt oddly familiar.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

Without question. Without hesitation. She was absolutely sure, this was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.

His lips were on her again and she sighed into them contently, allowing her brain to shut off and let her body just _react_.

She tugged at his sweater, desperate to feel his warm skin on hers. After all of these months without it - even longer for him considering everything - going a moment longer seemed impossible. Frustrated, she tore at the material and ripped it from his neck, then dragged it up his shoulder blades and cast is aside onto the floor.

"That was cashmere," he remarked idly.

She nipped at his jawline, "I'll buy you a new one."

"Well, if that's the mentality we're indulging in tonight," and without further ado he flipped her onto her stomach.

His fist tugged at the material on either side of her spine and thrust it apart until the zipper sprung open. With much more delicacy, he trailed his fingertips along the curve of her back, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand up straight.

Then, in another forceful motion and display of recklessness, he peeled the dress down her body and deposited it on the floor along with his own trousers.

Foreplay was all good and well, but Hermione felt herself becoming more and more impatient as he taunted her with one finger, then another, in slow, tantalizing motions.

"Will you _please_ hurry up," she begged.

"Good things come to those who wait," he replied evasively.

"Not to you if you make me wait much longer."

He gave her a disapproving look, but abided and lowered himself slowly into her. Deeper and deeper.

His motions were calculated and perfected to drive her to insanity. It left her begging for release more than once, to which he happily obliged after what he felt was a reasonable amount of torture. Then, he would oblige again.

The sex was better than she could ever remember - and, oh, how she tried - it being between them.

They collapsed, panting, on top of the sheets what felt like hours later. The silence that followed was comfortable, and welcoming.

Hermione, after finally regaining a reasonably rhythmic pulse, turned over and reached out for her wand that had fallen off of the bed some time during her second orgasm. Or was it her third? She couldn't quite recall.

If anything, the sex had hindered her memory rather than aide it in recovering any of their (past) intercourse.

He sat up at her movement, and eyed the closed door with a cleverly hooded expression.

"I should go,"

"No," she flicked her wand to turn off the lights in the room as well as summon two glasses of water. "Stay with me?"

He took the glass from its place of levitation in the air between them and she caught a glimpse of a sparkle in his darkened, grey eyes.

"Ok."

She took a large gulp, then placed her own cup on the nightstand on her side of the bed. With open arms, she welcomed him into nestling against her chest - because she could vaguely remember it was something they did often before bed or when they first woke up - and brushed a hand through his fine hair.

"Goodnight, Draco,"

He pressed a warm kiss to her collarbones and wrapped his strong arms around her waist.

"Sweet dreams, Hermione,"

—

AUTUMN

—

September rolled around along with a welcomed drop in temperature from the sweltering summer heat. Things had been going pretty well for Hermione and Draco, other than another screaming match in which Draco was, again, to blame.

It had been over the anniversary of the accident that had put her in a coma for months and wiped much of her memory.

He had insisted that she accompany him on somewhat of a couple's retreat as a way to explore their budding relationship and spend some much needed quality time together as she had decided to return to work having passed her follow up examinations with flying colors.

The holiday had been wonderful (They'd explicitly kept to the traditional developments of early stage casual relationships by avoiding talking about the definition of what they were in favor of loads and loads of sex).

The return to their London life had been less wonderful.

Hermione was instantly bombarded with diverted gazes and hushed conversation just out of earshot, but not quite out of visibility, upon her return to the Ministry post-holiday. It wasn't as if it had been her first day back, either, which caused alarms to go off in the back of her mind.

Until she figured out what it was that everyone seemed to be dancing around in her presence.

As it so happens, Draco's conveniently timed lovers getaway had been a coverup for the anniversary of her accident.

An event which - no matter how hard she tried - seemed to have been erased from anything she had access to. No one would talk about it (to her). No magazine or periodical she found had any coverage on it. Nothing.

It was infuriating; hence, the row.

However, after nearly being cornered by Rita Skeeter in the hopes of attaining something worth exploiting for a new headliner for the _Prophet_ (Surprisingly, Hermione had been able to hold her own against the vehemenous, ambitious woman and escaped without - hopefully - giving her too much to work with for a full length cover story), Draco had fessed up about the accident.

She understood why he was unwilling to discuss it before; it was very much not his fault, though to outsiders it certainly seemed that way. _Especially_ when Rita was able to twist and conform the story to her own monstrous tale. He'd even confessed to having a (heavy) hand in making sure any print about her accident was discredited and disposed of.

Which brought them back to now, where they had agreed to work on staying together and climbing their way back up the impossibly tall ladder to where their relationship had left off before the accident.

"So, you two are, what _dating?_" Pansy remarked.

"Yes," Hermione replied with a shrug. "We're taking things slow."

"But, you're _married_." Harry pointed out.

Pansy shot him a threatening glance.

"If you don't have anything intelligent to say, don't say anything at all."

Hermione choked on a small cake, "That's not the phrase."

"Well, it is for me."

"Fitting," mumbled Harry.

Another glare.

Daphne and Theo - their hosts for the evening - were currently playing along with Ada's idea of a tea party, which largely involved dressing up in her favorite dragon costume and stacking plastic tea cups in a pyramidal fashion, and conversing in hushed tones.

Hermione nudged Draco, who had just sauntered up to her side, and nodded toward the suspicious couple, "What do you suppose they're up to?"

"With Theo? It could be anything. I wouldn't think too much of it,"

She noted a knowing glint in his eyes, but decided not to press him any further. He was right, Nott could be up to anything, and it could be something as benign as the true definition of aristocracy or the secret society he was convinced the goblins were running under Gringotts.

The rest of the evening went on as it usually did at their monthly gatherings: someone occupied the child - which Hermione had thankfully been able to avoid the past few times - while Pansy got incredibly inebriated and ultimately either guilted Harry into abiding by her drunken commands or disappeared with him into some room for a suspicious amount of time; Hermione wandered about the house in hopes of recovering additional memories - which in this case was unsuccessful - while also sneaking a few chapters of a book in whenever Draco was otherwise preoccupied; Draco and Harry usually either the mutually avoided their wives or stuck beside them without any intention of letting them out of their sight, which Hermione suspected had led to an inside game that they played.

There was hardly any concrete evidence of the last statement, but occasionally Hermione had observed offhand comments that may or may not have had anything to do with the current conversation they were involved in.

For example, she was sure they were currently referring to their game now.

"All I'm saying," said Pansy, "is that if you're going to represent an entire group of people, you should at least dress the part."

"Kingsley does dress smartly," Hermione countered with a sigh.

Draco smirked, "He's certainly not one for traditional _suits_,"

He glanced at Harry at the last word, who responded with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Now, Malfoy, let's not get out of _hand_,"

Then, Pansy: "Out of hand? What on earth are you on about?"

Draco: "I suspect you'd like me to _flush_ out that commentary, then?"

Pansy to Hermione, "Do you have any idea what they're talking about? I was simply saying that if he's going to dress the way he does, the least he could do is switch up his color palette. Blue is not suitable for _every_ occasion."

Hermione, with a shrug, "I find it's just best to ignore them, and what does it matter what color he wears or how often he wears it?"

Harry: "Pans thinks anyone who wears the same color scheme three days _straight_ is 'an abomination to the laws of fashion and practical sense'."

Pansy, guffawed, "Are you quoting me, Harry Potter?"

Hermione: "Oh, Godric, here we go again."

Draco to Harry, "I have to say, I agree with her. Especially if someone in Kingsley's position should need to represent himself in front of a _full house_ of reporters multiple times a week."

By now, Pansy had taken Harry by the arm and dragged him away with a scowl across her face. Hermione awaited the scolding that would soon ensue and turned to face the tall blond beside her with an incredulous look and crossed arms.

He was hiding a smile behind firmly pressed lips as he called out to Harry one last time, "Worth it Potter?"

Whatever the boy had responded with died out as he and Pansy turned a corner and a door slammed.

"Care to explain?"

His smirk widened, then he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

"No idea what you're on about, Granger."

"Mhm," she said, then let him snake an arm around her waist and guide her toward the imaginary tea party.

By the end of the evening, Hermione was exhausted. She found herself barely unable to keep her eyes open, which Draco had long since noticed.

He held out her coat for her to put her arms into, and embraced her in a hug from behind as she buttoned it.

Harry and Pansy, looking suspiciously flushed and glowing, were wrangling ballet flats onto Ada's tiny feet and settling her into her carrier with her favorite pink blanket.

Theo and Daphne, looking even more suspicious than the previous couple Hermione had been observing, were standing stiffly before the foursome of their guests with thinly pressed lips.

"What's wrong?" She asked, somewhat bothered no one else seemed to want to say anything.

The grey eyes that had been intently focused on her just moments before, now seemed incapable of meeting her narrowed gaze.

"Why would you think anything's wrong?" Daphne croaked.

"Oh, please, Daph," she retorted, "You two have been out of sorts all evening."

"Well…" Her vibrant green eyes flickered up to Theo. "We do have an announcement."

"I'm pregnant," Theo blurted out.

"_We're_ pregnant," she amended.

Pansy, smirking, "I knew it!"

Daphne to Pansy, "How? I've been so careful to - "

Hermione: "That's brilliant! Congratulations!"

Draco, with a cocky grin aimed at Theo, "You're a shoddy liar, Nott,"

Theo: "I may be a terrible liar, but I'm no better at telling the truth."

Harry: "Are you _bragging_ about that?"

Daphne: " - try and conceal it until we were sure it wouldn't… you know."

Pansy, to Daphne, "You may have superb breasts, Daph, but anyone could have spotted you favoring them. The swelling aches doesn't it?"

Hermione, confused, "I didn't notice!"

Pansy: "Well, Hermione, not everyone is as observantly _gifted_ as you are,"

Theo and Draco exchange a glance, but shrug nonchalantly.

Harry, to Theo, "Well, I'm just glad I won't be the only dad in the group,"

Pansy, angling toward the boys, "Ah, yes, welcome to the never ending torture of parenthood you two."

They continued to congratulate the couple on their expectancy with smiles beaming across their faces and still managed to make it back to their flat before an unspeakable hour in the night.

Draco, stepping out of their bathroom in just his silk pants, cast a devilish grin at her.

She sat up and watched with wary eyes as he crawled from the foot of the bed up her torso and positioned himself above her.

"No," she chided playfully, "Not tonight, I'm tired."

"But what if I want to put a baby in your belly," he taunted with a smirk, "I think I would make an excellent daddy."

Hermione couldn't resist laughing as he planted an excessive amount of kisses around her face and down her neck.

She grasped his head between her hands and looking into his silvery eyes, feeling herself give way beneath their sparkle.

"No babies," she whispered, "At least, not yet."

"Hmm," he kissed the inside of her palm, "no babies, then."

He retreated on his forearms back down her body and stopped at her legs, inching them farther apart so that she straddled his body between her hips.

"How about… other things?"

Before she could reply, his tongue was already flicking at her clit through the cotton panties.

Suddenly, she wasn't tired anymore.

"That depends," she breathed in response.

"Hmm, I suppose I'll have to demonstrate then."

His hot mouth was on her again, and she unraveled at his touch.

—

The manor was unlike anything she'd ever seen; unlike any other time she'd visited for babysitting Ada or for drinks with Pansy and Harry.

It was a haunted house, straight from the pages of one of her favorite horror novelists.

The exterior engulfed her in the fantasy before she even made it to the front door (Draco had already known the kind of theatrical display they were about to get themselves in and had purposefully apparated them to just inside the gates).

The tall, ten-meter high hedges that lined the driveway were covered in cobwebs and spiders (Later, she would find out that Harry had placed them there on purpose and charmed them to slowly trail behind Ron as he made his way to the house). The immediate exterior of the house had been illusioned to appear as a creaky, broken down old manor much like the one she followed Nagini (under the guise of Bathilda Bagshot) into all those years ago.

The front door creaked open, with the arrival of her and Draco to the bloodied matt, and she stepped into the dark threshold following the blood trail that led them deeper into the house.

It was an odd feeling, recognizing the walls and furnishings as those belonging to Harry and Pansy, but their atmosphere had obviously taken a more sinister turn. The paint of the walls were peeling and the broken photo frames hung crooked.

He laced his fingers between hers and directed her toward the main entertainment space that they had been to just a few weeks ago for another one of their gatherings.

Pansy, easily recognizable by her authoritative demeanor as she instructed the house elves to refill the punch and candy, was dressed as Freddy Krueger.

She whipped around to face Hermione with a smile - which would've been quite pleasant under normal conditions, but with her dark makeup and tilted hat bringing shadows to her face, it was sort of creepy - and poked at her jokingly with one of her weaponized fingers.

"You're not in theme," she admonished.

Hermione glanced down at her own costume - a black lacy gown with white powder makeup and stark red lips that dripped fake blood down her chin - then over to Draco's - a vertically striped black and white suit with a ghost hand resting on his shoulder - and frowned.

"This is horror!" She protested.

Pansy scoffed, "It may generically qualify, Hermione, but that doesn't make it scary,"

"You didn't specify scary, Pans," Draco added.

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, her claws extending far out past her fingertips to the point where the floating catering trays of champagne had to swerve at the last minute to avoid crashing into them, and nodded to where Daphne and Theo had just entered into the room.

"Well, _they_ had no problem dressing in theme,"

Hermione turned to take in the new arrivals and to note what Pansy deemed worthy of a horror-esque costume.

Daphne wore a yellow raincoat on top of what seemed like a perfectly normal day outfit complete with rain boots and, other than the makeup of bruises and cuts, it was hardly anything to be afraid of.

She started to protest her point to Pansy again when Theo - or at least who she assumed to be Theo, because really who else could it be? - stepped out of the shadows and glowered behind her. He was so tall that his clown mask stood out clearly above Daphne's red balloon.

Even Hermione felt her stomach drop, despite knowing he wasn't a real threat.

"Oh fuck," she murmured.

Pansy nodded approvingly, "That's how it's done."

"Nobody ever shows up Nott," Draco commented. "Not when it comes to themed parties, that is."

"And with Daphne's weird obsession with horror films?" Pansy added.

They both shuddered and Hermione felt their appreciation for the couple as they gravitated towards them with wicked grins.

She opted not to follow and instead turned toward two other familiar faces among the crowd. More than their usual group had shown up for this event, but Harry and Ron were always easily recognizable to her no matter how large the crowd or how obscure the costume.

Harry, holding a ski mask in one hand and a blade in the other, was emphatically gesturing toward Ron, who had on overalls and several stitches along the length of his face

"Chuckie?" She guessed as she came up to them.

"Hey, Mione!"

He greeted her with a warm hug, then stood back so that Harry could do the same.

"Where's your little one?" She asked him.

"She's over there," he pointed across the room.

Sure enough, there was little Ada. Her two plaits were already coming loose as her wild hair flung about while she chased after a floating tray of cakes.

Hermione blinked at the girl's pink bow and pretty white dress.

"She's - what - a doll?"

"Yeah," he shrugged.

"I thought Pansy said we had to be scary! She didn't even like what Malfoy and I wore, I hardly believe she let her own daughter dress out of theme."

Harry nodded, "Oh, she didn't. She had a fit and tried to wrangle her into some gremlin costume."

"Then, how - "

"She wanted to wear her pink bow, and what was I going to do, say no? So, I pinned a wind-up thing to the back of her dress to make her some kind of scary doll,"

"Dolls aren't scary, Harry," doubted Hermione.

His brows flew up, "Oh, that one is,"

"Oh, yeah," Ron agreed. "Every time I go to greet her or try to pick her up she wails. Completely loses it! Then, I set her down and she's perfectly normal."

"It's only with Ron, too," laughed Harry.

"Bloody mental," Ron pouted.

Hermione smirked, "I bet Pansy had something to do with that,"

The three of them watched as Pansy scooped up her daughter and cradled her on her hip, then slipped her a piece of cake when she thought no one was watching.

"Isn't she not allowed to have sugar?" Hermione asked. "Isn't that _Pansy's_ rule?"

"Yeah,"

They sighed and shrugged it off with a fit of laughter as the mother and daughter wandered off to greet new guests.

—

Draco wound his way through the crowd to find his favorite bushy-haired witch.

"I love Halloween," he murmured into her ear.

She turned with a smile and planted a kiss on his lips.

"Not as much as Theo,"

He looked up to see that Theo was currently popping up beside guests of the party and then running away to either hide or find his next victim before they had the chance to hex him. Even Pansy, who was weaving her way through the crowd with a watchful eye, was unable to catch him.

"Nor Daphne either," he added.

She was currently indulging in Theo's idea of entertainment - though he highly believed she was likely the mastermind behind the trick - and was sidling up to guests and reciting creepy verses in a high-pitched, childlike tone with her gaping green eyes haunting them.

He laughed to himself, pleased with this year's turn of events. It was very different from last year and he was eternally grateful for that.

"I didn't know you liked Halloween so much," Hermione commented, bringing his attention back to her.

"Only recently," he vaguely replied.

She arched a brow, straightening his bow tie, "What happened recently?"

"Well," he said, deciding to give in to his good mood and offer her a rare piece of information, "two years ago, I proposed to you on Halloween."

She stilled, stepping back with parted lips.

"Really?"

"Really."

"But I thought," she stammered. "Oh,"

"Is it coming back to you?" He asked.

She nodded slowly, "Vaguely,"

"Perhaps this will jog your memory,"

He slid a velvet box out from his pocket and lowered himself onto one knee.

Her hands flew up to cover her audible gasp.

"I told you that I wanted to give this back to you, and I'm so sorry that it took so long for us to get here, but I truly couldn't be happier, Hermione, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life showing you just how grateful I am to have you. Will you remain married to me?"

She giggled, and let a hand fall to cup his cheek, "Yes, yes, of course!"

He beamed, and stood to wrap his arms around her. It was quite possibly the happiest moment of his life, and most definitely more rewarding than his first proposal.

"I love you," she murmured into his chest.

"I love you too,"

He pulled away slightly to press his lips to hers; their kiss deepened in their small alcove away from the bustling noise of the party.

His arms snaked around her waist to grip firmly to her hips and press her into the wall. She responded by bucking her hips against his and nipping her way along his jawline and down the limited exposure of his neck.

She breathed heavily, pausing to look him in the eye, with her hands gripping tightly to his lapel, "Let's get remarried."

He arched a brow.

"I still don't have a solid recollection of our first wedding, and I would much rather make new memories than wait for the old ones to come back,"

His lips twitched into a grin, "Yeah?"

"Right, well we can't _legally _get married again, but I'm sure it won't matter if we host another ceremony and reception and skip over the legal parts."

He nodded, "When would you like to do it?"

She bit her lip, "Tomorrow?"

At that, he outright laughed. It was a melodic, enchanting sound that caused a golden spark to light in her brown eyes.

"Tomorrow?" He repeated.

"Yes, I don't see why not."

"You may not realize this, but you did something quite similar last time."

"Oh?"

"I recall I was still on one knee and I was trying to convince you to wait at least six months, but you insisted you wanted to be wed sooner."

She grinned, "And?"

"And so, we compromised and got married the first of December."

"Well, then they can hardly be surprised if I give them twenty four hours notice, then, hm?"

He chuckled, toying with a loose curl, "No, I suppose not, but you're going to have to be the one that tells Pansy."

Her eyes dilated in horror.

"Oh, hell no, you're telling Pansy."

"Fine," he feign snapped, "then you have to inform Mother."

"Deal,"

He erupted into another fit of laughter, and she narrowed her eyes, glaring at him.

"What?"

"I would much rather have to face Pansy than my mother, _fuck_."

Hermione glowered, "You set me up!"

He picked her up and set her legs on either side of his hips, then backed her into the wall once more.

Any further protest of hers was lost as he took her breath in his.

"You really are predictable, Granger."

—

**A/N -**

so. . . my macbook decided to die.

I lost **all** of the 22k of the last two chapters for _Dangerous Love_ and **all **of the 35k for the first few chapters of my new WIP _Revelations._

I am hoping that they word docs can be revived along with my laptop (as I have no backups for them **rip**). If they cannot, then I will not be able to post the writings until I am able to cope with their loss and force myself to rewrite the almost 60k that was lost.

Please bare with me - and if you have any idea of how I can go about recovering these works _please_ let me know I am desperate - as I attempt to sort this out and get these works published.

I am devastated by the loss as I was immensely fond of the writings and can't even fathom how I would go about rewriting them :-(


	9. Revelations

**_Revelations_**

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Hansy (Harry x Pansy) and Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _A rebellious prince is fascinated with life beyond the dark and dangerous forest he is forced to live within. On one of his frequent visits to the boundary – journey's explicitly forbidden by his father – Prince Draco sees a young royal. A muggle queen. He knows they are star-crossed. He knows there is no possible way he can win her heart. Yet, he has to try. [A slow-burn romance, a deal with a Dark Lord, and an imminent war. Royalty. AU.]

**A/N – **This is set in a universe with Potterverse-magic but is also very AU. The physical world of the story is mostly AU (influenced by the Palace of Versailles among others) with nomenclature from canon HP. Some of the plot was influenced by _The Little Mermaid_ but you will soon see that it is an entirely different story.

. . .

_**Chapter 1 – The Dawn **_

. . .

_11 November 1359_

_10:58 pm_

The palace's corridors were frigid with the onset of winter winds and the dimly lit candles did little help warm or light them.

He tripped for the tenth time as he sprinted through the lower levels of the palace; his chest heaving and constricting with every step. Running at his age was nearly more surprising than the magical object he clutched to his chest.

The stone was heavy, weighing down his frail, sinewy body, but his dirty fingernails gripped it so tightly it was as if the stone was more important than life itself. In a way, it was.

He came to an abrupt stop at the end of the narrow corridor and banged three times on the brick wall; seconds later it shifted loudly and slid to the left, revealing a tall bearded man on the other side.

The man inhaled sharply at him and stared, bewildered, at the cloth-covered object in his arms. The man ushered him inside the spacious room and quickly replaced the hidden door in the wall.

"Your Grace," He greeted, offering a swift bow before settling the heavy stone on the table between them.

"I trust no one followed you?" The man – the King – asked.

"No, Your Grace." He replied.

"Good." The King paused, stroking his polished, dark beard with one of his hands. His eyes fixated on the object in the center of the table, never letting his eyes wander from it.

"Well," continued the King. "Let's see it, then."

He removed the wrapped cloth from around the stone to reveal its true form. A ruby red stone, roughly the size of a goblet, gleamed beneath the only source of light in the room – a torch held by His Majesty – and caused the King to take another sharp intake of breath.

"This is what he's after?" The King asked.

"Yes, Your Grace," He answered. "He's on his way to the palace now, with his followers."

"You're sure it's safe here?" The King tore his blue eyes away from the stone for a moment and narrowed them at him.

"I'm not sure it's safe anywhere if _he's_ after it, but this is the best place to hide it. The palace is extremely well-guarded and," His dark eyes flickered to his most-prized creation. "The stone has a way of protecting itself. It contains very powerful magic."

"Yes, you said." The King sighed and gestured to the more conventional exit of the staircase behind him. "What do you call it?"

"Your Grace?"

"The stone." He clarified. "What is its name? If I'm going to be hiding it away in my palace for you, I'd very much like to know what it's called."

"The Philosopher's Stone." He supplied with an anxious smile.

"Hmm." The King closed the heavy door behind them and lead them down the corridor and into the dungeons, where the rest of the nobility were securely awaiting the siege to end. "The name is very fitting, Grand Master Flamel."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

. . .

_19 September 1455_

_1:13 pm_

"Hermione dear, hold – "

"Minerva, _please_."

The older woman narrowed her gaze. With a flick of her wrist, the handmaiden at Hermione's feet quickly scampered out of the room, closing the enormous wooden door with a deafening sound that echoed off the palace walls.

"Do not interrupt. Not only is it rude, but it's especially _unladylike_."

"Yes, Minerva."

Her beady eyes analyzed Hermione with excruciating precision.

"You might as well sit down, dear, it seems you've already made yourself quite comfortable."

Hermione winced. Her posture was always a topic of discussion, and no matter how many times she reflexively snapped her shoulder blades back and tilted her chin up in fear of the disapproving look she was currently receiving, it was never straight enough for Minerva McGonagall.

Minerva was one of the only people (re: _the_ only person) capable of reprimanding her without threat of treason. Though the woman may be well below Hermione's stature, she had been a close friend to her mother and father, and to her father's parents before that. To say she was well-established in the palace would be an understatement.

High up on the – unfortunately for Hermione very long – list of behaviors that Minerva disapproved of, would be anything that contributed to or was innately _unladylike_. Naturally, these were the behaviors Hermione found herself frequently partaking in. (Hermione's handmaidens and ladies had been reprimanded often for lacing Hermione's corset so loose that according to her Mistress she may as well have not been wearing one at all. Evidently, poor spinal form was of the utmost heinous crimes a young, sheltered royal could commit.)

It wasn't as if Minerva was cruel. No, of course not. Shrewd, possibly. Demanding, certainly.

"There are rules, dear. Rules are made to be followed. Not bent. Not broken. You should do well to remember this, because soon the enforcement of the rules of the kingdom will be entirely in your hands. I aim to make sure they are capable of withstanding such pressures. Now," Mistress Minerva pursed her lips, "three more times."

Hermione fought the urge to chew her lip – another habit of hers that Minerva painstakingly corrected – and lowered herself, as gracefully as she could manage with a dozen books atop her head, into a curtsy. When she'd righted herself successfully (barely, but still), she locked eyes with the woman in search of approval she knew she wouldn't receive.

Now, she stood as erect as she could possibly manage with the pins sticking into her torso and legs.

"My apologies, Minerva."

"Do not apologize." She sighed. "You are a royal - a queen - Hermione. As fond as I am of politeness, even I cannot pretend there are not rules in place that clearly state a royal should never apologize to anyone below her stature." Her mouth pressed into a thin line, but Hermione could see the crease around her eyes soften slightly. Her tone lightened subtly, "You are Queen now, and, God rest the former King and Queen, I will make sure of it that you are ready for such a role."

Hermione frowned. She felt the usual headache, prompted by the mention of her future, starting at the base of her neck.

Technically she had been Queen since she was nearly two years of age, but due to some archaic law, she could not ascend to the title formally until she was the ripe age of eighteen. Due to such circumstances, her dear Uncle Colbert took his place as Regent.

That was all going to change today, though, as today was Hermione's eighteenth birthday and she could rightfully claim her place atop the throne and assume her role in ruling her country. However, her council - along with that pesky archaic role - insisted that she be married to an appropriate King consort before her official coronation.

Because heaven forbid a woman rule her own kingdom without a man by her side.

"Now," Minerva stated, gliding across the room to knock loudly on the chamber doors. The handmaids followed her to where Hermione stood atop the low platform. "Let's finish this one task without any more opposition, shall we? We have many more to accomplish before the day is done."

She nodded firmly, then turned her attention to the two women at her feet. She nodded once to them, acquiescing them to touch her.

"Your Majesty," they breathed in unison, bowing respectfully before continuing with their work.

"And Hermione?" Minerva called over her shoulder, "Happy Birthday, dear."

She offered her friend and advisor a forced smile before the woman disappeared behind the heavy wooden doors, leaving Hermione to suffer through the remainder of her fitting alone.

Hermione drew her focus away from the handmaids and toward the wall in front of her covered with marble panels and decorated with trophies of arms in gilded bronze. Her gaze wandered up to the ceiling to take in the decorated cupula and arches.

Most of the rooms in the palace had decorated ceilings that followed a similar theme to the purpose of the room. The War Room was adorned with bronze-gilded weapons while its ceilings depicted many famous battles that occurred within the kingdom, such as the First War and the Wizard War. The Peace Room, however, contained bronze-gilded statues of the heads of infamous liaisons and advisors with its ceiling depicting a time of balance and fruition within the kingdom.

This room was not as notable as the War Room and the Peace Room, though it was used far more often on a daily basis. There were so many boudoir rooms in the palace that there weren't formal names for all of them, but Hermione had taken from her mother in referring to this one as the Beau Boudoir because of the scenes depicted on its ceilings.

There were several beautiful women, nude except for ivory smocks lazily draped over their painted bodies, seen lounging around with various fruits between their delicate fingers. All were depicted with the same carefree smile and twinkle in their eyes.

Hermione took deep breaths – as deep as she possibly could with pins threatening to break the skin of her abdomen and hips – and let the happiness of the beautiful women above her seep into her pores and calm her nerves.

She would be fine. Everything would be fine.

. . .

_19 September 1455_

_3:20 pm_

Hermione threw open the doors to her bed chambers without waiting for the guards outside to open it for her or announce her presence. Minerva would scold her for such behavior. But Minerva wasn't present, and Hermione was tired of playing by the rules. There was only so many consecutive hours she could uphold her royal etiquette before imploding.

Two young girls – purposefully chosen to be Hermione's age – sat beneath the windowsill of the antechamber of her rooms with serene expressions and soft smiles as the cool autumn air played with their hair. One abruptly stood at the sound of Hermione's entrance.

"Your Highness," she said, hurriedly curtsying.

"Oh, please, Daph. Not today with that nonsense. Besides, Minerva's not here, it's just me." She huffed.

Hermione glided across the room and sank between the two girls on the cushioned seat, letting her skirts bunch up beneath her legs as she tucked them beneath her. She turned to face the other girl, the one who did not rise to greet her upon her arrival. The one who hadn't so much as looked at her yet.

"What's wrong with you, cat got your tongue?"

"Hardly," she rolled her eyes.

A hiss emulated across the room, from where an orange cat appeared and padded its way over to rub its cheeks against the bottoms of Hermione's very uncomfortable shoes. She kicked off the heels and scooped the feline up into her lap, burying him among her skirts and stroking his long fur until she could feel his vibratory satisfaction.

"Speak of the devil and he doth appear."

Hermione scowled before turning her attention to the cat cocooned in her lap, "Don't listen to Lady Parkinson, Crookshanks. She didn't mean it."

Pansy scoffed, "Of course, I did."

"_Pans_." The other girl warned from behind Hermione.

"What, Daphne? It's true. He doesn't like _anybody_ except Her Royal Highness." She said, her words dripping with sarcasm at Hermione's title.

To be fair, Hermione had insisted upon it. Something about them keeping her sane by not being surrounded by people who were so dreadfully polite all the time. Whatever the case, it didn't matter to Pansy. Perks of being one of the richest heiresses in the kingdom, she supposed, along with being best friends to the heir to the throne. Pansy quite enjoyed being able to speak her mind freely, and she didn't plan on holding back if she could help it.

"He has a peculiar taste." Hermione offered in support of her beloved cat.

"He has ridiculous taste." Corrected Pansy, "And a ridiculous name."

"_Pansy!"_ Daphne scolded.

"I keep telling you," Pansy said, ignoring Daphne and instead addressing Hermione, "You're going to have to change his name. Or at the very least, call him something else publicly."

"Why?" Hermione asked, rubbing her knuckles under the cat's chin as he purred in delight.

"Because no self-respecting man would want your kingdom knowing it came with _that._" She gestured to the cat, which turned to hiss at her in response, prompting a chuckle from Hermione. "Especially when _that_ has such a hideous name and terrible manners."

"You're incorrigible." Daphne sighed.

Pansy shrugged in response.

"But," Daphne ventured, craning her neck to meet Hermione's eyes. "You _do_ have to think of how to entice a husband before the end of the week."

Hermione groaned, "Please, Daph, don't remind me."

She let the feline jump from her lap and settle himself on a velvet seat in front of the fireplace. The air whistled across her face and entangled itself among her curls, wrestling them around her blushing face.

"It's all so unfair."

"Ah, yes," Pansy feigned a pout, "the poor young queen. How unfair it is that you should inherit an entire kingdom to rule at the cost of one meager, possibly power-hungry man."

"See, that's just it, isn't it?" Hermione frowned, unable to stop herself from chewing the inside of her cheek. One habit – fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how one looks at it – that escaped Minerva's keen eye and unrelenting training. "How can I possibly choose a suitable husband when I know the only reason that they're even coming to my kingdom this week is to fight over who will win it? I am _not_ some prize to be won. Neither is my kingdom or its people. It's heinous. I have arguably the most freedom in any given room, and yet, I also find that I have the least."

Pansy opened her mouth to add what could only have been another snarky comment, but promptly shut it at Daphne's glare.

"Hermione," Daphne said, brushing her fingertips along the girl's spine. "I know it seems unfair, but I'm afraid that's the law. It's never been kind to women, no matter their stature."

It couldn't have been intended to be a harsh reminder of Daphne's own lack of titles given the girl's naturally soft nature and fear of conflict, but it served as one, nonetheless.

Daphne Greengrass was enviably beautiful with her golden curls and bright green eyes, and as if that weren't enough to warrant any young man into falling to his knees, she was also the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the country. Though, she wasn't titled. It remained one of her sore spots and was likely the reason she was also unmarried.

Hermione sighed and leaned away from the chill breeze and into the warm embrace of her gentle friend.

"I - " she started to say _I'm sorry_, but quickly refrained from doing so as Minerva's voice echoed in her thoughts.

_A royal should never apologize to anyone below her stature_.

True, these were her two best friends and had been since she could walk, but the nagging feeling that Minerva would be disappointed had the apology slipped overruled her desire to comfort her friend.

"I shouldn't complain." She settled on, eyeing Daphne in particular, "Don't worry. I'll make sure you're settled with a respectable husband."

"Thank you, Your Highness," and this time when Daphne spoke Hermione's title it was with playful fondness.

"Preferably one with a title," Pansy interjected, ruining the soft moment as she typically did.

"Then, I suppose I'll have to find one with a title for you, too, hm?"

"I already have a title," she pointed out, then turned to dreamily look out the window and into the vast hills below. "Though, I do suppose another couldn't hurt."

"How many names _do _you have again?" Daphne asked.

Pansy waved a hand, "Too many to count,"

"Four," Hermione supplied, shaking her head not-so-disapprovingly at Pansy, who smirked in response.

Yes, Lady Pansy Parkinson. Her formal name was abhorrently long (Pansy Parkinson, Lady of Great Lake, Lady of Serpentine, Lady of The Sacred, and Viscountess of Knockturn, if you must know). Unlike Daphne, Pansy was well endowed with riches _and_ titles (obviously) so why wasn't she happily married to some Duke or the like? Mostly likely (re: _very _likely) due to her brazen demeanor. That and her father's reluctance to marry his only daughter off to any man less than a prince.

"Well," she stood up and brushed her skirts into submission.

Hermione sighed at Pansy's innately perfect posture. In fact, not a single raven hair was out of place which was arguably the more enviable trait to Hermione.

"Shall we get you all dolled up while the sun is still out?" Pansy continued. "I'd hate to imagine how much worse we can be with taming your wild curls into submission when we _can't _see what they're up to."

Daphne stood and skipped gleefully over to the chest at the end of Hermione's enormous bed. She threw it open began pulling bits and bobs out to lay next to the recently finished gown draped across the velvet tufted ottoman.

Hermione moved closer to inspect the jewelry being set out for her evening ensemble. She let out a hot breath of air as Pansy loosened the corset beneath the gown she wore, stripping her in preparation of her bath.

"Hm," she leaned over to caress a small, silver diadem. "This one?"

"No," Daphne said definitively, flicking her fingers away.

"The gold one," both Daphne and Pansy said in unison.

. . .

_19 September 1455_

_4:50 pm_

"Ah, come on, Your Highness. Now, you're not even _trying_."

"_Incendio!"_

A patch of dirt exploded to his immediate left. He dove out of the way of the next shot, resisting the urge to watch the tree behind him light afire. Instead, he flicked his wrist and pulled himself to his feet as his opponent flew backwards and landed with a loud thud on the dampened earth.

"That was hardly your best effort," the other boy insisted, wincing as he raised his head.

He scoffed, "Oh, it definitely was _not_ my best effort, or you wouldn't be breathing right now, Nott. I only intended to shut you up."

"Failed at that, too, then. My, my . . . what a terribly ungifted prince, you are."

A red flare shot from the end of his brandished wand to the miniscule gap between the other boy's splayed fingers. The boy pulled his hand back reflexively and glared up at the platinum-haired arrogant git that was his best friend.

"_Draco_," the boy growled, flexing his long, deft fingers as way of inspection. Though, they'd been purposefully avoided, and he knew it.

"_Theodore_," he replied in the same chiding tone.

Theo raised his wand at the smug look on his friend's face, "That's my father's name and you know better than to use it with me. You know I _loathe_ having to share it."

"Oh, is that right? You going to do anything about it, then?" Draco taunted, his lips twitching into a smirk.

"You're bloody right, I'm going to - "

"Oi!" A third voice interrupted. A dark haired, beautiful boy strode over to stand between the two of them. He glared at both of them with equal looks of disapproval despite knowing very well who had likely instigated the duel. "We don't have time for this." He turned to face Draco, "_You_," – he jabbed a finger at Draco's chest – "are supposed to be getting ready for the _actual_ duel scheduled for this evening, not play fighting with this fool." He turned to face Theo and jabbed a finger in his ribs, causing the other boy to double over briefly, "and _you_ are supposed to be _helping_ him prepare for the tournament!"

Theo, coughing as he regained an upright position, "I _am_ helping him. We're practicing." At the other's raised brows and crossed arms that clearly indicated he disagreed; Theo amended his statement. "Fine, fine, Blaise. We're going, we're going!" He yanked Draco by his elbow.

Blaise shook his head as the two of them disappeared towards the center of town, calling loudly after them, "I'll be checking in on you, so don't get any more funny ideas!" He groaned, then muttered to himself something obscene and wholly treasonous.

Draco shoved his wand into the waistband of his trousers and hung his arm off of Theo's shoulders.

"That was quite fun," he said.

Theo shook his head, "You want to die, is that it?"

"As I recall, _Theo_, you were every bit as involved in that little act of defiance as I was."

"Oh, sure. Blame the help!" He rolled his eyes, shoving Draco away with a jab of his elbow.

As much as Theo joked about being beneath Draco's stature, he wasn't far below it. He _certainly _was not 'the help' or so he'd put it. Theodore Nott, Jr was every bit as wealthy and titled as his old man was, though that's most definitely where their similarities ended. While Nott, Sr was cold and calculating – and no doubt somehow after the throne – while his son was kind and honest – and in no way after his best friend's throne.

"So," Theo started once they'd reached Draco's chambers. "Have you decided which lovely brute you're going to force to spend the rest of eternity with you?"

Draco spared his friend the satisfaction of an exasperated expression, offering only a shrug while turning away to select his best set of dress trousers for the dinner that was to precede the week's festivities.

"You do know that's the entire reason your father wants you to showboat this tournament, don't you?"

"I'm well aware of that," he replied dryly.

"Well," Theo prompted, "What are you going to do?"

"Most definitely not listen to my father."

"Probably a sound idea, except for the fact that if you don't choose some dull bride, _he_ will do it for you."

Draco sighed. It was true, his father has been telling him for nearly three years now to choose a queen consort. He was getting old and wanted to ensure he still had time to teach (re: bully) whomever Draco wed into being a suitable fit for the throne.

"Maybe if I'm lucky, I can procrastinate it another year." He mused.

"Doubt it," Theo scoffed. He crossed his arms as he fell back against a cushioned sofa at the foot of Draco's bed frame. He eyed Draco's choices of formal tops from where he lay. "Not that one," he added as Draco seemed to decide on an obtusely large white shirt.

"The silver one," Blaise offered, stepping into the large room and joining Theo on the velvet loveseat, pushing his feet to the floor with a reprimanding look. "He's right though, you know, about your father."

"Well, _you would know_, wouldn't you?" Theo questioned, bringing his feet back up to drape them across Blaise's lap.

"Just because _I_ listen to the King, doesn't make me some swotty lackey of his."

Theo raised his brows as if to say, _Doesn't it?_

Blaise purposefully ignored it and directed his attention back to Draco, who had just traipsed over to the clawfoot tub in a room adjacent to the one they were in, refusing to listen to them banter about his future betrothals.

He was sick and tired of his father so-called supervising everything he did; Draco couldn't so much as step outside the Manor for a breath of fresh air or wander through the market for new training gear without his father's permission. Though, he had become incredibly adept at sneaking away.

Everything was a façade; The King and Queen appeared to be the most loving and doting parents a royal child could ever dream of having. Outsiders saw Lucius teaching Draco how to wield his wand in the most proficient manner so as to cast spells more accurately toward his opponent. They saw Narcissa playing with him in the courtyard as a child, and then reading him bedtime stories at night.

In reality, Draco was marginally closer with his mother.

But what the outsiders didn't see was the truth between the lies. Lucius constantly scolding Draco for poor form and making him practice day in and day out for tournaments that did little more than entertain bored aristocrats. Narcissa begging nannies to stay for more than a fortnight – Draco was rebellious since birth which drove away every nanny in the kingdom – and then giving up and letting Draco run rampant until Lucius would punish him.

As for the King and Queen themselves, well. . . let's just say _their_ marriage was purely based on alliances and gold. The Black family was one of the few families to survive the war with a substantial amount of wealth left, and even a hundred years later they were still significantly wealthier than any other wizarding family. As it turns out, running a kingdom can be quite expensive, so Abraxas Malfoy (Draco's grandfather and the previous King) arranged for the most eligible Black daughter to marry his only son.

Being as his parents were a poor role model, marriage was something Draco had very little interest in, especially since his own was going to do little more than strengthen an alliance with another House.

The four Houses were in somewhat of a peaceful time at the moment, but it was all too new and so one could not be too careful as to seclude oneself from the others. Power was in numbers, as they say, and Slytherin had suffered a great deal in the Dark War and has yet to return to an acceptable standing, despite holding the crown.

Replenishment would be necessary, ergo Draco's marriage would be inevitable this year. He was nearly of age (nine months short but who was really counting), and there was nothing more he could do to postpone his father's intentions.

Draco sunk his silvery blonde head into the lukewarm bath water and tried to clear his thoughts.

Among all the lies, the illusions that everything was perfect and beloved in the Manor, Draco wanted one thing about his life to be real. _Just one._ Was that too much to ask for? Was that _so hard_?

It was as if the life he was currently living was not meant for him. He was but a shell of a man living in some world that did not belong to him.

. . .

_19 September 1455_

_8:00 pm_

"Lady Lovegood," the King greeted with a forced smile upon his thin lips; he gestured to his right, "My wife, Queen Narcissa," and then to his left, "My son, Prince Draco."

The young blonde, not _quite_ making eye contact with either party as they were introduced, curtsied deeply and nodded to each of them respectively.

"Thank you, Your Majesty, for inviting me into your home." She said, her words as light and airy as she was, teetering on the balls of her feet beneath her plentiful skirts. "I'm amazed at how little Nargles there are buzzing around this place. Much more in my home, I daresay." She let out a peel of laughter; her cheeks deepening in color, "Really, it's a wonder there are any here at all with what little mistletoe there is in this estate." She craned her neck towards the high ceilings above the entrance to the dining area.

Draco exchanged a weary glance with his father, then muttered under his breath, "She can't be serious."

Lucius shook his head once, administering his best look of disapproval, though Draco could tell it was feigned.

"That's no way to treat our guests, Draco. Do be a good host and help her to her seat, will you?"

Draco was reluctant to ask, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"Where will Lady Lovegood be sitting, Father?"

"Next to you."

_Obviously._

Another feast, another tournament, and another potential bride thrown into his grasp.

He sighed inwardly but extended a charming smile and his arm for her to take, which she did after several awkward moments of it lingering in midair between them.

When dinner was to commence, King Lucius stood with his goblet raised and waited – not long – to gather everyone's attention. As the crowd of people around the long dining table quieted and turned to face their king, Draco exchanged a knowing glance with Theo. He, in turn, raked a thumb across his throat and let his tongue fall from his lips as he crossed his eyes. Both boys stifled laughs as they feigned interest in what was about to be King Lucius's retelling of the Dark War.

Ah, yes. Draco had heard this particular tale one hundred too many times, but it was that time of year when the entire House of Slytherin would be forced to endure the retelling as well.

It went something like this:

There was a time when the four Houses lived in harmony with the muggle world. For centuries, the magical kingdom and the muggle kingdom thrived off of one another and grew to value each other's differences. The four Houses would share their strengths with the muggles, as best they could without delving too deeply into the secrets of their sorcery. When the muggles sought bravery, they visited the House of Gryffindor and sat amongst their warriors so as to learn their trade (only the physical portion, of course). When the muggles sought wisdom, they visited the House of Ravenclaw and read from their abundant libraries (limited to all but the restricted section). When the muggles sought fairness, they visited the House of Hufflepuff and requested an audience with their judge as he was the most just in all the kingdoms (supposedly). When the muggles sought ambition, they visited the House of Slytherin and learned the art of war (because honestly, it's all good and well to be able to throw a sword, but worth nothing if not first calculated or theorized) from its high-ranking soldiers and nobility.

The four Houses occupied the four corners of the country encompassing the muggle kingdom that occupied the center of the country whose borders touched all four Houses. As legend has it, wizards and muggles lived peacefully for many centuries, until a Dark Lord rose to power.

Lord Voldemort was not the King of the magical kingdom – he was merely a powerful wizard from the House of Slytherin – though he didn't need to be with the amount of power he accumulated, and from whom he accumulated it from. He had purposefully maimed and murdered hundreds of muggles before he could be stopped. But by then it was too late. The muggles no longer sought virtuous traits from the magical kingdom, but rather bloodshed and vengeance. They wanted the wizards to pay for the sins of the Dark Lord. And so, the Dark War endured. Muggles hunted wizards. Wizards hunted muggles. It continued for nearly a decade until, finally, the House of Slytherin (suffering the most from the war due to the Dark Lord's origin) decided to put a stop to the war. They devised a plan with the House of Ravenclaw to shield themselves from the muggle world and advised the Houses of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff to do the same.

The Dark War ended nearly a century ago and, although it would soon be approaching two decades of peace, the muggles had clearly not forgotten this tryst.

Or so King Lucius claimed every time he retold the story.

Draco, however, believed differently.

. . .

_19 September 1455_

_8:15 pm_

Hermione shuffled in her seat, attempting to itch her outer thigh where the lace of her newly-made gown scratched repeatedly at her sides. It had already been uncomfortable to wear during the fitting, but it was completely unbearable to sit in now as she waited for the announcements and introductions of her suitors.

Tonight, began what would be nearly a week-long event at winning not only her hand in marriage, but also king consort to her throne.

She fidgeted once more, more anxious as time passed at who her suitors were to be. Minerva noticed the repetitive motion and swatted at her clenched fists with a grimace.

"Hermione," she reprimanded, "do stop that. Remember, you are - "

"A queen now. I know."

"Do not - "

"Interrupt." She sighed, pressing her lips together and letting a release of air out of her nose instead, opting for the less obvious sign of frustration.

"Mistress Minerva," A deep voice cut in.

Hermione's head turned at the familiar, glacial sound of her uncle's voice. His beady eyes were focused on her despite his acknowledgement of her advisor beside her. He gave a pathetic bow with his eyes flickering to the shining gold atop her head.

"I suppose I should call you Your Majesty now," he stated icily.

"Unless you want to be hanged for treason," Hermione countered sweetly, plastering a smile across her lips.

"Hermione," Minerva scolded.

Hermione held up a hand to silence her advisor. Typically, she wouldn't dare exert such offensive behavior despite her status in comparison to her friend, but in the presence of her uncle, she could afford to display no sign of weakness.

"It's alright, Minerva, surely Uncle Colbert understands that I'm only joking." Her dark eyes narrowed at her uncle's green ones.

His face remained still as stone until he nodded and replied, "Of course, niece, I would never do anything to upset the Crown."

"Nor will you ever wear it again."

Minerva may have let in a sharp intake of breath, but Uncle Colbert hardly showed any sign of offense at the accusation. Save for the slight twitch of his upper lip.

Hermione turned away from him and back to the festivities unraveling before her. As the sole and rightful monarch, there was nothing more either of the two adults flanking her throne could say or do since she had so clearly moved on and ended any further discussion on the subject.

Minerva looked as if she was going to continue scolding her until a ceremonial trumpeting disrupted the attempt. She closed her mouth, turning her attention towards the deep red aisle in front of her (the aisle stretched down the center of the Royal Way, an expansive walkway that cut through the middle of the gardens to create a spectacular view known as the Grande Perspective), but not before sparing a final disapproving look at the young royal.

Hermione pointedly did not meet her advisor's eye. She took the opportunity to twirl a nervous finger around a curl that had sprung loose from her elaborate hairdo while Minerva had no chance of reprimanding her. As the second set of trumpets and drums sounded through the gardens, however, she dropped the ringlet, shoved her shoulders back, and aimed her chin upward as high as only royalty could socially do.

"Presenting," the announcer boasted, "Lord Viktor Krum, Baron of Durmstrang."

A young man, though most likely older than Hermione based on his physique and height alone, strode towards her from the end of the garnet aisle. His dark hair glistened from the fire light of the torches lit among the walkway. His shoulders visibly tensed as he drew as near as socially accepted to the throne on which she was seated. When he bent his torso forward, he kept his eyes on the floor for only the briefest of moments before daring to raise his gaze to rest upon hers. Hermione internally stiffened but knew better than to display such an obvious expression of distaste for his boldness. She lifted her chin slightly, allowing him the chance to speak.

"Your Highness," he said; his voice low and deep. There was a slight accent present that she couldn't quite pin to a particular region. "There have been many tales of your beauty, but none were able to accurately depict the divinity with which I am lucky enough to bear witness to tonight."

Hermione felt her pulse quicken as his dark eyes lingered too long on hers. He was attractive, almost _too _attractive to be trustworthy. Certainly, too attractive to be giving her poetic speeches of her so-called divine beauty. She nodded curtly to dismiss him without a word. No favors would be shown to these men who yearned so obviously for her throne. Not without properly earning it, that is.

Without a moment to catch her breath, the announcer presented the next suitor.

"Lord Neville Longbottom, of Diagon."

A tall, lanky fellow with ashy blonde hair likely thicker than her own, somehow, walked at too brisk pace for most of the aisle. He seemed to realize this though as he slowed down to a more comfortable stroll until he stopped at a respectable distance. He appeared to be better acquainted with what was expected of him, but it was as if he hadn't truly solidified his schooling in etiquette. She could practically see the wheels turning beneath his fragile gaze, constantly overthinking what to do. Thankfully, this one didn't venture into some tale about her grace or something or another. She mentally noted to speak to him first, when the time came for her to interact with the suitors. He seemed the least likely to bully her or trick her into marriage.

Perhaps he would make a suitable king consort. He was definitely unrefined. Hermione figured with his hesitant and unskilled behavior; she could manipulate him accordingly as she went about ruling her kingdom.

"Lord Michael Corner, of Diagon."

Ah. Of course, there _would_ be a Corner in the running, wouldn't there? She knew there were several men in the family, some of which had to be considered suitable enough for a chance at her throne. Though, she couldn't imagine why the family decided to send this one.

He seemed reasonably built, as much so as the previous suitors. Whereas Lord Krum had been too forward and Lord Longbottom too recluse, this one seemed too – she paused her inner analyzation as she searched for the word, but with a lopsided smirk from the suitor, it jumped at her – _arrogant_. Perhaps that is why the Corner family sent this son. He said nothing more but gave her an oddly deep nod and a narrowed gaze, as if to say _I may not have prepared a speech for you, but nonetheless, I will be the one you choose. The one you beg for._

She didn't much care for his reckless grin. It told her he was not one to be put in his place and that was not the type of man she wanted to hand her throne over to. He would have to prove his worth to her quickly if he intended on gaining any favor from her.

"Lord Henry Potter, of Grimmauld."

A man with dark hair, possibly more unruly than her own, strode confidently down the aisle and stopped abruptly. He stared at her for a moment, and she at him, then blinked. Suddenly, Hermione felt drawn to his jewel-toned eyes. They were mesmerizing and so difficult to tear her gaze from. It was only when he bowed, considerably later than what would be considered respectful, did she realize how much time had passed while they'd been staring at each other.

He lingered in that position longer than necessary as well. Interesting, that he should have the title of nobility, but what seemed to be none of its upbringing. It was as if he was merely thrown into the act only weeks ago. Very peculiar, indeed.

When he righted himself, he locked his emerald eyes with her brown ones and offered her a wayward smile along with a whispered, "Your Highness."

"Lord Potter," She softly replied.

"Please," he insisted, "Call me Harry, Your Highness."

He swiftly exited as she caught her breath. She felt Minerva and Uncle Colbert's eyes boring into her and willed the color not to rise in her cheeks as her temperature increased.

She should not have spoken to him.

But something in his eyes were so inviting to her. So familiar. It had been difficult not only to look away, but to not respond to them.

She waited for the next suitor, but the announcer did not sound the trumpet or make any sort of announcement for a long minute, prompting Hermione to turn to Lady Parkinson and Miss Greengrass who had moved to stand beside her in the place of her uncle who had no doubt trudged off in search of some good port to drown his regent-less sorrows in.

"Is that all of them?" She asked, embarrassingly unable to withhold the disappointment from her tone.

"Did you want more? Because that can certainly be arranged." Minerva cut in, much to Hermione's dismay.

Disapproval dripped from her tongue. An arch of her silver eyebrow warned Hermione to choose her next words very carefully.

She fought a grimace, smiling through gritted teeth. "No, that's quite all right. It appears I have my work cut out for me as it is."

. . .

_19 September 1455_

_8:57 pm_

"Did you know," Lord Longbottom said, "that pears are abundant this season? We have quite a ridiculous amount at my estate this year and, although I do love them, I'm not entirely sure what to do with so many!"

He seemed to think this was . . . charming? No that wasn't quite right. Perhaps, intriguing? Hermione fought to keep a polite smile on her rouge lips and lifted her skirts as they walked through the paths of the gardens.

"Tragedy," She commented, hoping he would move on from the subject.

"Oh, yes, it is." No such luck for her then, it seemed. "It would be terribly awful if they all - "

"Lord Longbottom," The arrogant suitor cut in – Corner, she reminded herself – "Your Highness," he nodded to both of them, but his eyes lingered on Hermione's with his arm outstretched. "May I?"

She nodded and folded her arms within his without a word.

"You look lovely this evening, Your Highness," he said, leading her along the winding path that enveloped the gardens.

She _did _look lovely, thanks to her ever-adoring ladies and Minerva's strict instructions.

_Oh, no, dear. You must wear garnet. It's tradition._

Her ball gown and corset were a deep, rich red entwined with gold lace and detailing, to which Pansy and Daphne were adamant enough about pairing with the golden tiara atop her neatly pinned curls. Her head was throbbing from the number of pins and bobs lodged in among the wayward ringlets.

_Hold still, Hermione! Only one more. . . No, I know I said that a minute ago. . . Well, this time I mean it! It can't come loose or we're surely never going to hear the end of it from Minerva._

"You are very kind," She offered in acknowledgement to the young Lord. "Please, call me Hermione."

He seemed pleased with this small triumph, "Very well, _Hermione_."

Her name had never felt more foreign on another person's tongue. This was going to be a long, torturous week of festivities after all.

They talked about nothing of importance – at least, not in her perspective – for what seemed to be ages when she was rudely (though, thankfully) interrupted and escorted back to the main entertainment space by Lady Four-Names.

"You're a lifesaver," she breathed when out of earshot. She felt her shoulders sag and let her neck roll to relieve some of the tension she'd built up over mingling for the past hour. There was a sharp jab between her shoulder blades. "Ouch!" She turned to face Pansy with a grimace, "What was that for?"

"Firstly, don't ruin your posture. It's unladylike. Secondly," She jabbed Hermione again, - "Ouch, Pans!" – "don't you dare tell anyone I saved your life, or I shall swiftly end mine for there is no point in continuing with such a spoiled reputation." She lifted her nose in feigned (hopefully) disgust.

Hermione shook her head, "You're mad."

Pansy shrugged.

"So, how are they?" Daphne asked the moment they had returned to the main celebration.

"Positively horrendous," Hermione sighed. She double, then triple, checked to make sure Minerva was well out of earshot before continuing. "I can't possibly imagine loving any of them nor spending the rest of my life with them."

Daphne visibly deflated.

"Who says you have to love them?" Pansy suggested. Daphne quickly supplied her with a pinch on her forearm. "Ouch, Daph!"

Hermione let out a quiet laugh, pinching Pansy's other arm. When the girl yelped again, Hermione only wiggled her brows as if to say, _Hm, what's that? You don't like when other people physically reprimand you?_

The small firecracker display that had been arranged to assist in concluding that night's events began to go off. In that same moment, Hermione noticed out of the corner of her eye, two very disturbing things. The first being the two men she hadn't had a chance to discuss nonsense with in length approaching her in some attempt at securing her last conversation of the night. The second being that even farther away from them, a tuft of orange fur had darted down the hill and towards the Forbidden Forest.

She turned to her ladies, and shouted, "Corset's too tight!" before running off after the second problem.

Pansy and Daphne gave each other a knowing look, interpreting the code they'd created – and since added to – when first becoming Hermione's ladies. It was helpful in times like these, when too many prying ears were within earshot for Hermione to be blatantly and emergently honest.

Both girls divided among the approaching men and led them back towards the dancing and the music, promising a refreshed young monarch first thing tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Hermione ran – _very_ unladylike – down the hill in what had to be the worst possible outfit to sprint into the woods.

. . .

_19 September 1455_

_9:01 pm_

"You see, it's your aura. It's. . ." She paused, looking for the most appropriate word. "_off_."

Draco wanted to bash his head into the table. Lady Lovegood – already nicknamed Loony Lovegood by Theo – was far too talkative for his taste. Sure, he liked a good argument and genuine conversation – honestly probably more than the next guy – but this was complete and utter _bollocks_.

Only once so far in conversation had he made the mistake of questioning what exactly a _snorflax_ was and what a _dinglehopper_ did but learned his lesson quickly. Nod and smile. Just nod and smile.

He met Theo's conniving look from across the table and tapped his forefinger once, followed by his middle finger twice, and then by his pinky finger four times. Theo winked his understanding.

Draco turned to his father, talking over Luna's muttered chatter to herself, "Father," He addressed softly, who glanced sideways at him quizzically. "Could I trouble you to excuse Lady Lovegood and I from the festivities early? I would love to show her the rest of the Manor and well," he paused as his throat dried in his lie, "being as she's never been here, I imagine it would take a respectable amount of time to do so properly."

Lucius narrowed his eyes, but nodded anyway, forced to assume innocence out of respect for the guest from Ravenclaw.

"Go on but see to it that you are both back for the duel this evening."

Draco's chair scooted back with a loud screech, and he winced as her chair did the same, alerting the remainder of the dinner party that they were exiting considerably early in the evening. Oh well. It wasn't as if the entire kingdom wasn't already convinced that he was a scoundrel that slept around with the many maidens of Slytherin. What was one Ravenclaw rumor going to do to his reputation?

Theo stood a moment after, nodding solemnly to his father and to the King and Queen, "Goodnight, Your Majesties," he promised before catching up to Draco and Lady Lovegood at the wave of their hands.

Blaise had come running out into the corridor not long after the trio and paused to survey the scene, "What exactly are you two up to now?"

"Blaise," Draco huffed, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to stall long enough for an excuse. It worked because at that precise moment, several loud bangs went off in thunderous applause. His eyes widened in alarm; he nearly tripped as he shoved Lady Lovegood into Blaise's arms. He tore off down the hall with Theo in tow, shouting out behind him as he turned a corner, "Be a gentleman, Blaise, and show Lady Lovegood the Manor, will you?"

He didn't stay to hear the snotty reply he was sure followed. Instead, he raced through the halls and towards the back exit of the Manor. It opened towards the closest point of the boundary. It was evident that the booming explosions were notfrom _their_ festivities. In which case, that could only mean they were coming from the neighboring muggle kingdom.

Draco was familiar with the path through the heavily wooded forest in which their magical kingdom resided that lead to the most optimal viewing point of the muggle palace. He'd frequented it as often as he could since he first discovered it.

Through the deep forest, avoiding the large and protruding roots, and then scaling up the side of a jagged rock would reveal a steep drop-off that overlooked the western edge of the palace gardens. The muggle festivities were in distant view while Draco was perfectly hidden beneath not only the shadows of the rock as well as the illusion of the boundary charm.

"Oi," Theo huffed as he caught up, leaning against one edge of the boulder while catching his breath, "next time, give me a warning, would you?"

Draco wasn't listening. He was preoccupied with observing the party erupting in the distance. He could vaguely make out torches, men and women dressed in expensive formal attire despite being outside among the terraces and the gardens, and flares being set off into the dark sky that would eventually explode into an array of scattered lights.

It was mesmerizing.

He had been fascinated by the neighboring muggles for years; it had all started when he – the young outspoken fool that he was at eleven – attempted to question why muggles were still so terrible if the war was long over. He had been frustrated. His father and mother were of no help as they had constantly shut down his protests and queries. Then, he turned to other trusted advisors. No one, it seemed, in the entire kingdom was willing to talk to him about this particular subject. Eventually, he grew tired of the exasperated looks on their faces and decided not to bring it up anymore.

One day, approximately four years later, he'd been chasing Theo through the forest. They'd been particularly up to no good that day when they ran well past their usual territory in the forest and stumbled upon this hidden gem. Draco wasn't entirely sure what to think of them at first. It wasn't as if they appeared to be as evil and conniving as Father had promised them to be. They didn't look like what any of the legends described them as. Bloodthirsty. Ruthless. Selfish.

Over the next few years, Draco visited this treasure trove as often as he could get away with. Theo mostly followed; he didn't particularly care for the muggles one way or another but was happy to come along on the journey. Draco had originally sought out this observation trove in hopes to prove his father right; to better understand where the entirety of the mistrust the kingdom held for muggles stemmed from. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed when, year after year, the muggles only proved the opposite.

He'd watched from afar as they danced, sang, and celebrated. Not only their own accomplishments, but from what he could see, each _other's_ accomplishments and victories. There was always loud music and plenty of dancing. If Draco were to squint hard enough at the swarm of figures in the distance now, he was certain he would witness the usual push and pull and twirling of a happy couple.

It wasn't as if there was no fun or celebration at wizarding festivities, but certainly none to this extent. Wizards celebrated their victories. . . differently, he supposed.

"_Draco!"_ Theo shouted, drawing his attention away from the silhouettes dancing among the flames.

Draco turned to face him. It was evident from his stance and furrowed brows that he had likely been trying to get Draco's attention several times before this last one stuck.

"Hm?" He asked with a sidelong glance, unwilling to fully break his gaze away from the party.

Theo sighed, recognizing that he'd lost his prince to his usual vice. "What is it that they're doing this time?"

He narrowed his gaze and pondered, "I don't know. It seems to be… a celebration… of sorts."

It occurred to him, that they could have been celebrating the end of the war as well. They _were_ involved in it as well. He supposed the destruction of a dark roguish wizard could cause such a spectacular event.

Theo sat beside him and dangled his feet off the edge, just as Draco did. "There's got to be more going on up there than that." He playfully pushed Draco's head to the side. "Come on. Spill."

Draco sighed. He looked at Theo, _really looked_ at Theo and was suddenly so overcome with gratuity for his best friend – for his safe space – that he was unable to stop the word vomit coming out of his mouth.

"It's my father. He constantly reminds me – _us_ – that the muggles are devious and cruel and in no way to be trusted. It's just. . ." He raked a hand through his hair, "There has to be something wrong with me. I just don't see how a world that has such wonderful people," he gestured to the crowd in the distance, "could be bad."

Theo blinked, processing.

"Have you ever actually _met_ any of those people? Or even seen one up close?" He ventured.

"Well, no - "

"That settles it, then." Theo said matter-of-factly.

"Settles what, exactly? Are you proposing I rectify that statement by, I don't know. . ." Draco threw his hands up, guffawed. "That I meet one of these people?"

Theo choked, "_What?_ No! Are you _mad_?"

But the seed had already been planted.

"Wait," Draco snapped his head towards the crowd in the distance in realization. "That's it! I'll figure out some way to meet one of them and then I'll _know _and - "

"No." Theo interjected. "No. Absolutely not!"

"Well, Theodore, now you're starting to sound just like Blaise."

"_Theo_," He corrected under his breath, then protested louder, "I am not!"

"The boundary charm can't be _that_ difficult to get through." Draco thought aloud. "I mean, if we're being honest, getting back in is easy, it's getting _out_ that's the tricky part. Hm, what could we - "

"I am _not_ getting involved in this, Draco! Your father would eat me _alive._ MY FATHER WOULD EAT ME ALIVE. NO, NO. THERE'S ABSOLUTELY - "

"I suppose a distraction?"

"- NO WAY -"

"You're right, too obvious. Besides, we would need an extremely powerful spell to _stay_ outside the boundary."

"- I AM GETTING INVOLVED!"

Draco held his tongue for a moment to spare a glance at the breathless and red-faced Theo beside him. He lingered for a moment on Theo's last words.

"Well, it's about time, Theodore." He rolled his eyes emphatically and stood up.

"THEO!"

"No, _I'm _Dr - "

"Don't." Theo warned. "Don't you _dare_ finish that sentence."

Draco held his lips together for a solid thirty seconds before adding, "Oh, _absolutely_ Blaise there. Spot on."

"GAH!" Theo groaned, then muttered some obscenity about princes under his breath as he rose to face Draco.

"What are you two going on about now, and where the _bloody _hell is this place?"

As if summoned, Blaise Zabini appeared behind the boulder, striding towards a fuming Theo and an amused Draco with not even the slightest impression that it was out of the ordinary.

"This…" Draco motioned with his hand to point out the crowd of muggles below when he noticed a streak of red dart away from the crowd.

He squinted into the darkness. Sure enough, it was a young girl in a deep, garnet gown – one he imagined was terribly ill-suited for running… or breathing, really – beelining from the safety of her palace grounds to the unwelcoming edge of the forest.

Without so much as a second glance, he darted around Blaise and Theo and sprinted in the direction of the edge of the forest she would soon be approaching. This was no place for a muggle girl.

Once he'd reached his edge of the boundary that aligned itself within three meters of the edge of the forest, he could see more clearly that she was not a child as he presumed, but a young woman probably (re: hopefully) his age.

He watched as she passed the edge of forest and ran deeper into unknown territory without hesitation. He was suddenly struck by her courage. Albeit, stupid courage. But still. It was admirable.

"Draco, what - " Blaise and Theo said in unison as they caught up to him.

He continued to move along the path of his boundary, watching the girl shake her pointed shoes loose and hoist her skirts up as she clamored over the enormous roots of the oaks and yews.

"No," Blaise added, finally eyeing the girl. "_No._" He whipped his head around to Theo, "Tell me he's joking. This is a joke, right? We're all imagining things? That's what this forest can do to you Draco,"

"I wouldn't argue, I just. . ." Theo trailed off and shook his head vehemently as he trailed behind Draco at the boundary's edge.

There was a muffled screech and then a gasp from the woman.

Draco's eyes flitted frantically to where her wide, brown eyes were fixated. There appeared to be a rotund, fluffy orange cat pawing – and then biting repeatedly, much to everyone's distaste – at a mangy, grey rat. He grimaced at the horrific, ugly scene. His gaze then fell to the woman.

Her hands clamped over her mouth and, like the sharp intake she'd just given, let out an equally sharp, but shakier, exhale. She gingerly reached out, looking as if she was going to reach for the feline. Draco wanted to advise her against such a thing, but it would be useless because she couldn't hear or see him through the illusion charm. When she did reach out for the cat, though, it sprinted off, back towards the palace with the rat hanging from its mouth.

Her shoulders visibly relaxed as she plopped to the ground with the skirts of her elegant ball gown enclosing her legs beneath what Draco could only presume to be expensive fabrics. No other fabrics would look as radiant or as well-crafted as the ones she so carelessly covered in mud.

His grey eyes were unable to look away from the defeated frown that formed on her soft features. The way her lips filled and pouted, then parted as she sighed in discontent. The way her hair was wild and free, enveloping her face. The way her delicate, _ringless_, fingers swiped away at a loose curl that dared to get caught in her long lashes.

Her neck craned as she peered up towards the sky, though it was obscured by the thick trees. She then bent her head down to inspect the amount of mud that covered her skirts and her bare skin.

"Minerva's going to _murder_ me." She mused.

She fell back and lay among the forest floor, her curls sprawled out in a halo around her head. Draco noticed several streaks of light reflecting off from deep within her mahogany hair; he wasn't able to clearly see what was causing it, until she tossed to the side, facing towards him.

A tiny, delicately gold tiara gleaned from atop her head.

A princess.

He felt his pulse quicken as she faced him and wondered if the illusion charm truly worked the way he'd been told it did. Obscuring their magical world from all those who weren't part of it. He imagined she saw an abundance of oaks staring back at her instead of a bewildered blonde prince.

"I don't believe it," she said.

He felt his throat dry and attempted not to panic more than he already had been. There was no way she could see through the charm. . . right?

But then she looked away, towards something off in the distance.

"It's preposterous that I should have to wed in order to move on with my coronation. Men don't have to. I've been preparing for this my whole life! And now I'm just supposed to hand my kingdom over to some," she stuttered, "some _power-hungry Lord?_"

_Coronation… _Draco internally registered... _so, she already _was_ Queen._

She scoffed. "It's ridiculous."

"_Draco,_" Blaise hissed.

"Shh!" He whispered back, intent on listening to the muggle queen ramble.

"Bright young women should not be forced to dull their intelligence, their worth, their birthright because of a man. Because of some dumb, _ancient_ rule." She pouted and threw a hand over her eyes. "I want to marry for love. I want to spend my afternoons curled up in his lap in the library as we read to each other," – _I love reading, _Draco thought – "I need to have a real connection, to get to _know_ him before I agree to spend the rest of my life beside him," – _I want nothing more than to get to know you, you beautiful muggle_ – "and I absolutely have to trust him. How am I supposed to be able to do any of these things with these suitors by the end of the week? How am I supposed to decide who the next king will be based off of minor interactions? It's absurd."

A lump formed in his throat and he grudgingly swallowed it. _Days? She only had _days_ until she would be forced to wed?_

Draco understood the terrible position she was in as he was in quite a similar one of his own. Suddenly he felt dizzy as a series of imaginary instances of a life they could have together flashed behind his eyes.

There had to be something he could do.

_Anything_.

She would be married in a matter of days, and he wasn't entirely sure if he could live with himself if it isn't to him. If he didn't at least _try_.

Draco was so enraptured by her, by his imaginary future with this muggle queen, that he barely noticed the vines wrap around her mud-ridden ankles and the thorns dig into her porcelain skin.

Her screams were cut off as abruptly as they had begun when a vine ensnared itself around her neck.

He panicked. There was no time to think, only to react. He pulled his wand from his trousers and aimed it at the boundary; he let out a strain of disenchantment spells among other offensive charms that would help dissipate the boundary for a brief moment. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as her pale complexion grew blue with suffocation.

She was a muggle and there was absolutely nothing she could do. Nothing she could have knownto do.

This is why this forest was forbidden to muggles – aside from the obvious hidden magical kingdom – it was full of horrific magical creatures of which they stood no chance against.

He spun to face Blaise and Theo, pleading with his eyes; he was fully aware of what this implication could mean for the three of them, and yet begged them anyway.

"_Please,_" he croaked; his mouth dry.

Theo raised his wand, and Blaise followed. All three of them aimed at the boundary for what felt like incredibly too long but must have only been seconds. There was a flicker in the charm, a disappearance of the foggy haze that stood out so clearly to them as the boundary, for an instant.

Only an instant.

Draco dove for it.

He felt the pull, the _weight_ of the charm bearing down on him, dragging him back towards their magical world. But that was not his place. No, his place was by _her_ side. Part of _her _world.

The boundary released him with a terrific thud, and he plummeted, ungracefully, to the sodden earth.

He reached for his wand and hastily drew a _reducto_ at the vines. He repeated the charm while occasionally tossing in a _diffindo_. At the disappearance of the vines, he rushed beside her and surveyed her injuries. He tried to count the puncture marks, cuts and scrapes, but it was impossible with the way his head spun.

Being outside of the boundary was beginning to affect him.

He had very little time to fix this.

To help her.

To be with her.

He shoved that feeling deep down and waved an _episkey_ over her until the gashing wounds dissipated into thin, red marks. With what energy he had left to summon he picked her up – she was surprisingly light in his arms – and carried her the hundred meters to the edge of the forest.

He placed her gently on the soft grass and tucked a curl behind her ear, caressing the side of her cheek as he did. He saw her chest rise; her eyes flutter and stir at his touch. He longed to stay there beside her forever, but he could feel his own health diminishing the longer he remained outside of the boundary.

"What would I give to live where you are?" He asked softly, his lips turning up into a sad smile.

"What would I pay to stay here beside you?"

Her fingertips twitched at her side, finding his other hand. All of the air escaped his lungs.

"What would I do to see you smiling at me?"

This time, her lips twitched into a wayward smile.

_Where would we laugh? Where would we dance? If I could risk it all for just once chance… for just you and me. And I could be… part of your world._

Her breathing hitched for a moment, causing a deep aching in his chest. He softly murmured a _confundo_ and then rose with great reluctance to shoot several red flares from the tip of his wand, alerting the other muggles of the disturbance, and ultimately her presence.

He limped towards the edge of the forest in time for the first muggles to arrive without having seen him.

A large brute picked her up, swaddling her in his arms as two other young girls bantered and worried in his wake.

His thoughts swarmed with images of their future, of which he could only dream. A chill ran up the back of his spine as he watched her head bob with the loose, wild curls – the ones he longed to entangle his fingers through and hold onto – bounce with every step the man took back up the hill. He didn't know when, nor _how_, but he knew, in that very instant, he would sacrifice nearly anything to spend the rest of his days beside her.

_Watch and you'll see… _

His knees gave out beneath him as she disappeared from view; he crawled the three meters to the nearest boundary line, thankful to see Theo and Blaise waiting beyond its hazy walls.

_Someday I'll be… _

He inhaled sharply, feeling the blood rush back to his brain as he collapsed at his friends' feet with nothing but her warm, smooth skin filling his thoughts.

_Part of your world… _

_. . ._

_19 September 1455_

_11:56 pm_

"Ah, Nagini,"

The responsive hiss of the twelve-foot green snake alerted its owner of the most recent news.

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised." The raspy voice responded, nodded to the snake. "Wormtail was never the brightest of my followers, was he? Loyal, I'll give him that. Unfortunately look where that got him."

Another hiss; this one much longer and softer. Thoughtful. Speculating.

"Hmm, I'm still not sure that's the best way to go about this hitch in our plans. But, very well, my pet. I trust you."

Nagini hissed her understanding and slithered back into the forest.

. . .

**A/N - **Hello! Thank you so much for reading! This is actually the first chapter of my new WIP so if you'd like to continue reading this story, head on over to my _Revelations_ to do so (I just uploaded chapter 4 for you) xx


	10. Death Eater's Advocate

_**Death Eater's Advocate **_

_Rating: _M for language, violence, sex and darkish themes.

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

_Summary: _The Dark Lord was successful in killing Harry Potter, and the wizarding world has suffered under the new reigns of his unforgiving band of Death Eaters. The Order has since been hunted down and marked as enemies of the new political state. The Canary is a notorious member of the resistance and is wanted for relaying crucial information about the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. As such, there is a steep reward for whomever manages to seize this faceless, nameless war criminal. Seize is not exactly the word Draco Malfoy would use to describe how the interaction went, but hey, he didn't expect to discover who the Canary really was… and he certainly didn't expect to fall in love with her either. Canon-compliant until Battle of Hogwarts.

* * *

Believe it or not, the sound of his wand snapping in half was immensely more painful than when his femur had shattered only minutes ago.

"WHAT THE FU - "

"Shut up, Malfoy. I have no intention of getting caught by your babbling band of baboons today." Granger warned him bossily.

He stared at her blankly, then grimaced at the splintered wood at her feet. His leg was throbbing, bleeding profusely, and apparently, she didn't have any intention of doing anything about that either.

"You plan on leaving me here to die, then?" He seethed.

"Not at all," she called over her shoulder as she created a protection spell around them.

"Then what the fu - "

She cut him off again, stuffing an old rag into his mouth with an impatient huff.

"I may have to live off the grid now, Malfoy, but I'm not so ill-informed that I know you'll call for your precious Death Eater friends at the earliest opportunity." Her gaze flicked over to his broken wand before returning to his narrowed eyes. "Like I said, I don't plan on being found today."

He mumbled something incoherent through the dirty cloth to which she dramatically sighed, pressing a dirty fingernail to her pursed lips.

"No, probably not tomorrow either. May be next week? I'll have my assistant get in touch with your people," she replied drily.

He screamed obscenities into the rag while she turned to continue her work on the spell, securing a boundary around them and effectively rendering him her captive. This was decidedly not how Draco imagined his day going, but there they were. His grey eyes flickered down to his leg again, the sight of it alone causing him to gag, and he knew for certain that she had no need to charm him into immobility. He wasn't going anywhere any time soon, and that's presuming that he lived through his wound.

"It's not _that_ bad," she said, reappearing at his side.

She knelt beside his thigh, bending her head to analyze the wound she'd inflicted. A frizzy curl fell in her face, but she brushed it away hastily before summoning clean bandages with a flick of her (perfectly intact) wand.

Her brown eyes lifted to his mouth, "I don't have to worry about keeping you quiet anymore, but I'm going to leave that there for a few more minutes. For both of our benefit,"

Draco squirmed, trying to dispel the cloth from his mouth so that he could properly tell her where he'd rather place it, but instead let a strangled scream dissipate into it.

Her hands made fast work of cleaning the mangled flesh of his upper thigh, setting his bone back in place and securing it with metal barbs, sewing a thread through his skin in a meticulous fashion, and then wrapping his leg with stark white bandages that quickly reddened.

Finally, she removed the dirty cloth from his mouth and cast it into the firepit beside them.

He inhaled sharply as he stared at her with as much venom as he could muster in his woozy state, then spat at the forest floor between their legs.

"Why don't you just kill me?"

"I don't want to kill you," she shrugged. "Call it my debilitating belief in morals."

He scoffed, "You don't want me dead? Well, it's hard to believe you want me to fucking survive, Granger."

She tucked her wand into her back pocket, away from his accusatory glance.

"Perhaps, I want you to suffer a bit. Feel the pain."

"It would be fucking impossible not to with that stunt you pulled," he growled, wincing as he attempted to shift his weight, feeling his left side start to go numb from putting too much weight on it… or from too much blood loss. Who fucking knew?

She shrugged again. "It was necessary."

"Un-_fucking_-believable. Just wait until I get my hands on you, you filthy mu - "

"Tsk-tsk," she said, arching a brow. "That's no way to treat someone who stopped you from bleeding out, Malfoy. I just saved your life, you know. Your welcome."

"Saved my… YOU'RE THE ONE WHO BLOODY PUT IT IN DANGER IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

"Eh, you were chasing me. I invoke self-defense."

He gaped at her, watching as her facial muscles barely twitched while his were inescapably lost to his rising temper. How she could be so calm was beyond him.

She stood up and wiped the blood – _his_ blood – from her hands onto another rag. "You might as well try and get some sleep. It's going to be a long night."

"Fuck you,"

"Sorry, a bit busy at the moment. Maybe later."

Draco was usually quite level-headed, in fact, he was almost always the choice when Tom wanted someone disposed of quietly and cleanly. It was how he'd ended up in this bloody situation to begin with; the Death Eater's had gotten wind of Granger's whereabouts and sent him to get rid of her. He hadn't imagined she'd see him coming – none of the other Order members had – and had been ambushed by her the moment he apparated into the forest.

Now, here he was, her captive for however long she planned on keeping him alive. Draco wasn't an idiot; he knew she was eventually going to kill him, but probably not before she managed to get him to spill all of his secrets.

Well, if that was the case, two can certainly play at that game. All he had to do now was trick Granger into revealing everything she knew about the remainder of the Order, their beloved Canary and their stupid plan to rebel against Tom.

"You look like hell, Granger." He commented, taking in not only the abhorrent state of her hair, but also the dark circles under her eyes. There was the fact that she didn't seem to fill out her clothes quite as well as she used to when they had been in school together, too.

"You're one to talk," she retorted.

"BLOODY HELL, NO THANKS TO YOU, YOU - "

The remainder of his slight was cut off by the insertion of another rag into his mouth.

Fucking excellent.

Really fucking excellent.

* * *

Draco woke to find himself in a small cot which explained the terrible kink in his neck and left shoulder. Unfortunately, his pain didn't end there. Upon regaining consciousness, his brain unhelpfully reminded him of the major wound he'd suffered the day before.

He threw the itchy cover aside, grimacing at the black and blue splotches along his bare thigh. The stitching job seemed impeccable, aside from the fact that its very existence made him want to retch.

"Oh, god, please don't be sick again."

His head snapped up, sending a throbbing migraine up the forefront of his skull, to see the familiar face of a bushy-haired witch enter his dizzying vision. He forced himself to swallow the bile that rose in his throat and pushed his greasy hair back from his damp forehead.

"What?"

"Yeah, it was unpleasant. Not the vomit, of course, that was expected given the circumstances." – Circumstances, he thought, that _she_ had bestowed upon him – "Seeing you naked, I mean. _That_ was most unpleasant," she said, shivering from the supposed memory.

"_Excuse me_?" He hissed.

"Well, I thought it would hardly be sanitary to let you sleep in it. I had to take your clothes off before putting you in the bed, then I burned them."

"YOU WHAT?"

She scoffed, "Relax, I'm only messing with you. They're over there, drying."

He followed her extended finger to see his clothing – an exceptionally well-crafted navy suit – hanging by the firepit through a flap in the spacious tent they were in. He glanced down again at his body, noting that he was, in fact, nude except for his tight-fitting underwear.

"Briefs," she teased, "I would've pegged you as more of a boxer kind-of guy."

"Fuck you,"

She only smirked in response.

Then, she pulled up a stool and sat beside his cot, wrapping a clean bandage over his wound that would no-doubt form a nasty, jagged scar with the way she planned on treating it. She was so close to him, her frizzy curls practically touching his cheek; he inhaled the sweet scent of roses that must be from her shampoo or something.

Draco yearned to wrap his fingers around her neck and force her into subconsciousness. He didn't though. Firstly, because he still needed to do find out what she knew of the whereabouts of the few remaining members of the Order, including the prized Canary, and secondly, because he couldn't see her wand in her back pocket anymore.

It was mostly for the sake of the second one (though the first would undoubtably result in him moving up in the ranks of the Death Eater's and was therefore also tempting) that he exhaled a shaky breath and turned to her with a mostly innocent expression.

"You really should just kill me, you know."

She said nothing, her slender fingers – thankfully cleaner this morning – trailing around the hardness of his injured quad and hamstring.

"At least then, I wouldn't be able to annoy you anymore."

She scoffed, "That's certainly true."

"So, why don't you?" He asked, trying desperately not to wince as she tied off the bandage with what he presumed to be an unnecessary amount of pressure.

"Why do you want to die so badly?" She countered.

He noted that while she had finished caring for his leg, her hands had yet to remove themselves from his warm body; her fingertips, slightly cold, were resting lightly on the inside of his unscathed thigh.

"Who says that I do?"

Her eyes narrowed, and he willed himself to keep a grimace from forming on his lips as she searched his face for something. Something, it turns out, that she did not find seeing as she averted her gaze without another word.

"How long do you plan on keeping me here, captive?" He demanded, abruptly switching the topic of conversation, intent on getting her talking somehow.

She glanced at his thigh, pursing her lips when the bandages began to turn pink, then red, again.

"Three to four weeks at least, though I would hardly say you're captive, Malfoy. That's a bit dramatic even for you, don't you think?"

"As if I could fucking leave in this condition? I'd say captive is quite accurate, Granger."

"Agree to disagree," she shrugged.

"You could always let me go," he ventured, arching a silver brow in her direction.

"Yeah, ok," she rolled her eyes. "I'd sooner die."

He smiled mercilessly, "That can be arranged."

When she didn't so much as flinch at his words, his brows furrowed. She had always been so receptive of his threats… so reactive. It's what made it so fun when they were in school together. He'd enjoyed teasing her the most out of anyone, because it always, _always_ resulted in a violent reaction.

Sure, there was always the risk that she would slap him but what was the point of the taunts if not for the thrill of danger?

If she had simply let her bushy head fall and withheld her sharp tongue, he would have tired of teasing her long ago.

Which is why it was extremely unnerving for him that she could so casually meet his eyes now without so much as a dangerous glint in hers.

"What's the matter, Granger? My threats not good enough for you anymore?"

"No," she admitted, her voice quiet. "I'm too used to receiving them now from Death Eater scum like you. You're going to have to up your game, Malfoy."

He scowled.

"Don't flatter yourself," he said. "The only reason any of us threaten you is because you belong to that senseless band of rebels. It's not like you're a member of importance, Granger."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows.

"You know what I fucking mean. Don't act like you and the rest of the Order don't know there's a fucking bounty out for the capture of your precious Canary."

"Ah," she said, her face betraying nothing.

Then, much to his dismay, she stood and moved away from him, to the other side of the tent where she poured herself a cup of tea and lifted it to her lips with a particular expression flashing across her face that he couldn't quite interpret.

She knew something. He was sure of it.

What exactly it was that she knew he was less fucking sure of.

* * *

Granger was a fucking vault.

He had been bed ridden for days now and could do very little other than talk, eat, or sleep. Draco had primarily practiced the first of his limited activities whenever she was in the tent, which was not that often.

She mostly went out in the late morning, then came back when the sun started to go down. Only once had it rained in the last few days, causing her to change her schedule and actually spend time in the tent with him. At first, she kept to herself and read a book, ignoring any attempt at conversation with him.

Because of that, he mostly ended up talking himself into delirium.

If he was going to get her to spill her secrets, he was going to have to do a better job at getting her to talk to him. Since his old tactics hadn't worked – unsurprisingly since there hadn't been much subtlety involved and any time the Order came up, she immediately shut down – Draco knew he was going to have to try something a bit different.

The next morning, when she was changing his bandages and applying a slimy salvation onto his wound, he propped his hands behind his head and gave her a casual grin.

"Well, Granger, if we're going to be spending so much time together, we may as well get to know each other."

"I already know plenty about you."

She didn't meet his eyes, instead sweeping across the jagged mark she'd inflicted as well as stitched up. Then, her fingers began tracing along the raised, inflamed skin surrounding the deep gash.

A hiss escaped his lips.

This time her eyes did flicker up to meet his and her head ducked slightly; she could tell he was in agony, and this time it seemed she actually might have given a shit about it.

When her hands retracted, resting as they usually did on his other thigh, he let out a shaky breath.

"You only know me from Hogwarts," he noted. "It's been years. I'm hardly the same egotistical prat I was back then,"

She arched a brow, "I seriously doubt that."

" – and I bet that you're not the same magnanimous swot."

"You know a _magnanimous swot_ is exactly the type of person you should hope I am, actually."

"Whatever," he replied, waving a hand as if it would dispel her argument altogether. "My _point_ is that I don't think we truly know each other. Would it really be so bad if you got to know me?"

Her response was instantaneous.

"Yes."

"Ok, rude." His eyes shifted from her frizzy hair, unskillfully plaited that day, to the torrential downpour outside of the tent. "Well, is there something better you have to do today?"

Her head turned toward the half-open flap, then to her small stack of books on the side of her cot, then back to his arrogant and awaiting smile.

"Yes, actually, I'm almost certain _anything_ would be better than talking to you."

She swiftly stood, but he reached out a hand, closing it around her wrist.

"I will talk to you regardless, until your ears bleed. In fact, I will bother you until you finally decide to kill me. How does that sound?"

"You… are a pompous swine."

"And that's only chapter one, Granger. Just you wait,"

She reluctantly sat back down, foregoing her relaxed position where her hands rested on his bare legs for one where her arms crossed angrily in front of her torso, not touching him at all. Not that he gave a fuck. Obviously.

"So, what did you have in mind?"

"Oh, just the real deep stuff, you know."

She sighed, "Like what, Malfoy?"

"What's your favorite color?"

"That's it," she shook her head. "You've gone too far."

Draco wanted to tell her it was only a fucking joke and that she needed to lighten up, but then he realized her head was bent to cover her laughing. Her shoulders were shaking not because she was crying, but because she was stifling her laughter.

"You _are_ a fucking swot still," he commented, shaking his head in bemusement.

"Shut up," she retorted.

"Seriously, though, what is it?"

"What? My favorite color? Really?" – he nodded – "Err, blue I guess."

"You guess? Fuck, Granger, if you're not sure what your favorite color how am I supposed to trust that you know anything about - "

"Fine, I know. I know it's blue." She rolled her eyes at him. "Let me guess, yours it green?"

Actually, it was.

Was he really that predictable? How fucking depressing.

"Next question," he grumbled.

"I swear if you ask what my birthday is, Malfoy, I _will_ kill you."

"Please," he scoffed. "As if I wanted to break into your vault at Gringott's. There's probably nothing there but layers of dust,"

"What does that have to do with - "

Granger cut herself off, causing him to immediately scan his surroundings (habit). Then, she blinked, pursed her lips and gave him an extremely skeptical expression.

"No," she gaped.

"What?" He demanded.

"Malfoy, don't tell me you use your _date of birth_ as a passcode!"

"It's the vault _number_ not a passcode,"

She arched a brow, "That's arguably just as bad. If not worse."

"Fuck you,"

* * *

The days were becoming slightly more bearable.

Draco was still held captive, by Granger no less, that much was still true regrettably. However, she was talking to him now which made the days seem to fly by. Not to mention he was finally able to start putting weight on his leg again, so she was helping him in some perverse form of physical therapy.

Two weeks into his capture, she handed him his morning cup of tea (black, two sugars) as she sat beside him with hers (loads of milk, one sugar). His crutch, which she'd made from transfiguring a sturdy tree branch, rested on the empty chair between them.

There was a newspaper on the table between them, and she slid it over to him, pointing excitedly at the front page of the _Daily Prophet_.

"You're on the front page,"

"I'm almost always on the front page, Granger, that's hardly something to - "

He broke off, reading the headline above a grandiose photo of him: DRACO MALFOY CAPTURED BY DANGEROUS ORDER MEMBER, HERMIONE GRANGER.

"They were spot-on," she said, smiling into her teacup. "A bit unlike them, don't you think?"

"What are you so giddy about?" He snapped, throwing down the paper. "They want you dead, you know. They blame you for my _disappearance_ and even go as far as to say _you_ hunted _me_ down."

"Ah, well, that part is rubbish, yeah." She shrugged. "Voldemort always wants me dead. He wants all of the Order members dead. It's really nothing new,"

She wasn't fucking wrong.

Then, the unbelievable happened. He burst out laughing, stifling it into his inner elbow as best as he could, avoiding her anxious expression.

"Have you gone mad?" She asked, her eyes sweeping cautiously over his body. "Are the potions not working anymore?"

"No, I'm fine," he said, catching his breath and forcing his face into a more appropriate contortion. "It's just - " he paused, clearing his throat and forcing any residual chuckles down. "They think you're holding me _captive_, Granger."

"I don't…"

"THEY BLOODY NAILED IT," he said, losing control again and having to hold his side between gasps.

"Malfoy,"

"THEY THINK YOU'RE HOLDING ME FOR RANSOM… OR, OR INFORMATION,"

He swiped furiously at his eyes, feeling the delirium start to subside. He reached for his teacup, taking a long swig and letting the scalding liquid sooth his aching throat. Then, he looked at her, at her very concerned expression and rigid body, and felt himself sag.

"Why don't you just kill me?" He whispered.

"I told you, I don't want - "

"But, why?" He begged, willing his voice not to crack. "Is it true? You are holding me for gold or for information? Because if it is, _please_, just fucking tell me."

She took a deep breath, then met his blood-shot eyes from across the small sitting table. Her unruly curls glowed a particular soft brown, some streaks appearing almost golden in the early morning sunlight, and her eyes were warm, wide and fixed on him intensely.

"I - " She paused, staring at her tea. "That's not it. It's not anything like that,"

"Then, why?"

"I just… I don't want to kill you, ok? I just don't want to. Isn't that enough?"

"No."

What Granger hadn't realized, that he unfortunately had, was the propaganda hidden within the article. Tom was using him to warrant sympathy for his cause, whether it was his current one or another one he planned on introducing shortly. It also reflected poorly on Granger and subsequently the other Order members, but that she had noticed and, as she said, it was nothing new.

Why he was upset by the article was beyond him. It wasn't as if he didn't already know what he was getting himself into when joining the Death Eater's all those years ago, and it hadn't changed much since. If anything, he was even _more_ on the wrong side of the war, but it was also the winning one so…

"Hey,"

He turned over in his cot, letting the covers fall off his shoulders and torso as he did so, and saw Granger standing over him with crossed arms and a reprimanding chin jutting out. He waited for the inevitable lecture, expecting her to go on and on about how he could leave the Dark Side and join her on higher moral ground… blah blah blah

He'd heard it all before.

It still didn't change the fact that Tom was unstoppable, save for whatever the Canary had on him. Apparently, the Canary was basically the new fucking Chosen One in a matter of speaking seeing as whatever he knew about Tom was enough to bring the man to unspeakable violence in pursuit of him.

"What?" He snapped, tired of waiting.

She kicked at a box on the floor, sending it toppling over and spilling out hundreds if not thousands of owl messages, then pulled up the stool and fell into it with a huff.

Her hand reached out to touch his forehead, then his cheek and once again her fingers were cold as ice. He swatted her away, but she only returned with a damp cloth she conjured, dabbing at the sweat that formed on his forehead, his jaw, his neck.

"I thought you were going to lecture me," he said, eying her apprehensively.

"I _was_," she admitted, moving the cloth down to the edge of his shirt. "Then, I saw how sick you were and… I don't know. It didn't seem to matter anymore."

He didn't ask why.

She nodded to his soaked shirt, though he couldn't recall her damp cloth being there and assumed it must have been from sweat. Fuck.

"Can you – Err – I mean - "

"Granger, if you wanted me to take my clothes off, you could've just asked. You didn't have to give me a fatal injury and then possibly an infection because you _refused_ to - "

He stopped talking at her widened, guilty eyes. He had been half joking, teasing her really, but then it occurred to him… what if he _was_ sick?

"Take off your clothes," she hissed, "Now."

Then, she tossed the cloth over her head and rushed to the other side of the room, returning just as Draco had managed to peel his shirt over his head, his hair falling onto his forehead in the process. Before he could sweep a hand through it to tame it back to perfection, she pressed him flat into the thin mattress and brandished her wand with her free hand.

Based on her sharp intake of breath and his notable lack of pain in his leg, Draco deduced that something very terrible had come from her attempts to heal him mundanely. Though, much to his relief, she cast several charms over him as his eyes fluttered shut, delivering him into blackness.

* * *

The first thing he saw when he came to was Granger's abhorrently bushy curls framing her abominably flushed complexion. He blinked a few times, waiting for his eyes to adjust, bringing her into focus as he became increasingly aware of what had happened.

"Hey," she breathed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like fucking hell, Granger, what do you think?"

"I thought you were going to die," she confessed, her voice small.

He winced, bringing a hand to his feverish temple. "Not for lack of trying, I can assure you."

She rolled her eyes at him, pressing him back into the pillows – which he could have sworn had doubled since his last state of consciousness – and this time, the icy chill of her fingers on his hot skin felt liberating.

"Don't try to sit up." She commanded bossily. "You're still quite unwell. I did the best I could, but it still looks pretty bad. You're not out of the woods yet."

"No thanks to you," he reminded her. Then, seeing her face drop, he went on. "Hey, don't go all soft on me now."

She immediately backed away from him, "I'll let you rest,"

"No, wait." He shifted to one side of the cot, patting the empty space beside him. "Come here,"

She stared at him in disbelief, "What?"

"Granger, don't make me fucking repeat myself."

"I don't think that's - "

He cut her off, "The infection – Well – Am I contagious?"

"No, but - "

"But nothing," he fluffed the pillow next to him. "For fuck's sake, Granger, I'm not going to ask again so can you, _for one bloody second_, listen - "

"Fine, fine."

He wasn't exactly sure _why_ he wanted her next to him and was immensely glad when she didn't ask. He was confident he could have made up some bullshite about how her frigid skin pressed against his sweltering body brought much needed relief to the fever he was irrefutably fighting.

She slipped under the covers, settling her body next to his and Draco abandoned any attempt at saving his pride and snaked an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him and holding her there. Her cool cheek felt marvelous against his chest.

"Malfoy," she whispered.

"What, Granger?"

"Err," she paused, and he could see that she was biting her lip.

For some unknown reason, that seemed to undo him. Who knew that was all it took?

He pulled her chin up to meet his, then tentatively brushed his lips against hers. It wasn't a kiss, not really. It was experimental. He was testing the waters. Seeing whether or not she was smart enough to pull away from him. To his utter relief, she was not.

She pressed their lips firmly together, closing the space that he had left, and a small sigh of content fell escaped her lips. A low growl emanated deep in his throat, surfacing as he took her bottom lip between his teeth, pulling her on top of him.

"Malfoy," she breathed.

"What, Granger?"

She bit her lip again, driving him wild. There was a moment where her eyes seemed to soften, but then they shifted back to a darker, sensual nature as she shook her head and waved away the notion.

"I – Err – Never mind," she sighed against his lips, then moving to kiss along the edge of his jaw. In turn, his fingers dug into her hips.

Something murderous was happening in his heart; the rest of what followed fell into a hazy feverish dream.

All he could remember later that night as she snuggled up to him, his arms wrapped tightly around her, was the taste of her lips. The heat of them against the side of his neck. The pressure in his chest. The feeling of her disastrous curls tangled in his fingers. The scraping of her nails against his hard stomach.

The thought of, _Why haven't we been doing this the whole time? Why did it take us so long to discover this?_

* * *

"Granger – Hey – Wait – Slow _down_, will you?"

His ragged breathing causing him to huff loudly between bouts of pleas; she chuckled softly from under the covers, then paused the movement of her hands down his bare chest, her fingers toying absently with the clasp of his trousers. Teasing him. Taunting him. As she always did.

"I didn't realize you had the patience of a _toddler_," he mocked.

She rolled her eyes, "It's not my fault you can't keep up, Malfoy."

"Can't keep up?" He repeated, arching a silver brow. "That's it,"

He pulled her back up to his eye level, snaked an arm around her small waist, then roughly flipped her so that he was on top. His elbows held him above her in a plank position, but by slightly shifting his arms so that they rested higher, on either side of her head, he was able to put more of his weight against her.

Thankfully by then, almost exactly three weeks into his captivity, his injured leg was able to bear a considerable amount of weight and was recovering much faster with the introduction of magic to his healing regimen.

"You know," he said, bending his head to rest his forehead against hers, brushing a sweet kiss against her swollen lips. "It's concerning how attached I am to you now."

She laughed against his mouth, "That's the Stockholm Syndrome talking, I'm sure."

"Fuck," he breathed. "That explains it."

Then, because he didn't feel like putting his thoughts and feelings into meaningful words, he took her bottom lip between his and then tugged at it gently with his teeth. She let out a soft moan and he took the opportunity to stifle his own beneath her jawline.

He kissed down the side of her neck, then along her clavicle to her bony shoulder. Then, a saddening image of an underfed and malnourished Granger on the run suddenly appeared behind his closed lids and he promptly shoved it away, promising himself that he would never let her have to suffer like she had the past few years on the run ever again.

With a renewed energy, he shifted his weight to his healthier side which alleviated the pressure on his mangled thigh as well as allowed his free hand to unclasp her jeans and slip beneath her knickers.

White cotton.

_Motherfucker_.

He took his time with her, wanting to build her slowly so that the release would be all that more pleasurable. That and he wanted her to understand why he hated to rush things like this. Sex was a marathon, not a sprint.

Foreplay could _not_ be understated.

His fingers teased her opening for a long minute until he felt her wriggle underneath his weight, trying to create friction against his palm. He laughed into her neck, nuzzling himself in her wild, humid-inflated curls.

Finally, he slipped a finger in, immediately followed by another and smiled inwardly at the hiss that escaped her lips before she bit down on his earlobe. He curled his fingers, finding her g-spot and spent a few minutes there until he felt her legs start to shake beneath his; not wanting her to come _too_ quickly, he pulled out of her and brought his thumb to her clitoris instead.

She mewled in his ear, losing her mind at precisely the moment he wanted her to.

"Malfoy," she growled.

"What, Granger?" He asked all-too-innocently.

"I want - " she paused, panting. "I want you,"

He pulled his head back to look into her warm, chestnut eyes. "What was that?"

Her eyes narrowed, but then her face relaxed in elation as his thumb continued relentlessly.

"Malfoy," she whined.

"Do you wish you had killed me now?" He teased.

"No," she between gritted teeth, "I want you. I want your cock. NOW"

He smiled mischievously, "Fucking hell, Granger, I didn't know you had such a dirty mouth."

The look she gave him next was homicidal, but again it faded as the pleasure of him filling her slowly and swiftly took over. She was so wet. Gloriously and satisfyingly wet. For him. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced (and yes, he has had sex before, but it had been _nothing_ like sex with Granger).

He lost himself in her, pulling himself mostly out and then furiously pounding back into her. Both of them were panting, sweating, whispering incoherently in each other's ears as the tension between their legs built up and up and up.

"Malfoy, yes – _yes_, yes – holy, _yes_ – _there, there_ \- "

"Fuck, Granger – _fuck _– you're, you're just – _fuck _\- "

She moaned loudly and he grunted coarsely, then both of them collapsed on the tiny cot. It took nearly a full five minutes of heavy breathing before either of them was able to move again. She gave him a lazy grin, slinging a naked, cold leg around his hips. He stretched out his arms – happy to be comfortably back on his back – and twisted a frizzy curl between his fingers, brushing the sticky stranding away from her sweat-slicked forehead.

"Do you think you'll ever get tired of it?" She asked, drawing imaginary lines along his bare chest and peering up at him with her too-big brown eyes.

"Sex?" He scoffed, "No, never. I'm a fucking man, Granger, in case that particular fact slipped your clever mind."

She laughed, "I didn't mean that." Then, sobering her voice, she went on. "I meant… Do you think you'll ever get tired of living on the run?"

He blinked.

What the fuck?

What the_ fuck?_

"What?" He replied after too many seconds of awkward silence. "What do you mean _on the run_? I'm going back to civilization as soon as I'm healed, Granger."

He ignored the voice in his head that reminded him he was well past healed if he was having sex _like that_ and especially as often as they'd been having it. Not to mention there was technically nothing stopping him from stealing her wand and apparating himself out of here.

"Oh," she said weakly. "I thought maybe… Never mind. It was stupid of me to think that."

Then, she pulled away from him, slipped on an oversized shirt, and took the top cover with her, wrapping it around her body and stumbling toward the cot on the other side of the room without another word. He mentally kicked himself, then pulled his underwear on and sat up, swinging his legs off the edge of his cot and bracing himself to stand.

"You're coming with me,"

"What?"

She spun around, shock and opposition displayed openly on her usually stoic face. The only time he'd really gotten a good read on her in the weeks they'd been together was when they were naked and on top of one another. Other than that, she had remained as difficult to read as she had been when he first became her captive (though now that was hardly an accurate term… hapless love slave was probably more fitting).

"You heard me, Granger."

"I can't come with you, are you mad? They'll kill me."

Draco didn't have to ask who. He tensed his shoulders, "I won't let anything happen to you."

She shook her head, "No, you don't understand. They'll _kill _me."

"Granger, you're just a lowly member of a disorganized and hopeless group of rebels." He tried to keep his voice steady and calm; diplomatic even. She seemed to respond best to him when he didn't lose his temper. "They won't kill you if you're with me, ok? They can't touch you."

She gave him a look; a despondent, crestfallen and anguished look.

"You can't save me, Malfoy."

"Listen, Tom values me. I'm certain he'll administer some… some rule preventing any other Death Eater from harming you. If you're _with me_," he emphasized.

She sighed.

"If I'm with you," she said, her large eyes searching his face. He tried to hide how hurt he felt by clenching his jaw, hoping she wouldn't notice the defensive maneuver.

"If I'm with you," she repeated slowly, "They'll kill me, _and_ they'll kill you."

He shook his head, unwilling to give her up so easily.

"Granger don't be stupid. Like I said, and I mean no offense by this, but you're just another stupid Order member. It's not like you're the fucking Canary or anything,"

Her head tilted, lips pouted, and eyes wilted.

Then, it dawned on him. Spectacularly and extremely despairingly.

"No," he choked. "_No_."

"Malfoy, listen - "

"You're the fucking Canary?" His nails dug into his palms, knuckles turning white. "_You're_ the fucking _Canary_? YOU'RE THE FUCKING CA - "

"Yes," she said, sinking to the floor. "Yes."

"GRANGER, WHAT THE FU - "

She reached an arm out to caress his cheek, and as she did so he felt the impenetrable wall she created to shield her mind, collapse at his touch. She let him see her in her role as the Canary, proving everything, including the fact that she was an exceptionally talented legilimens. Far better than him.

No wonder he hadn't been able to break her; no wonder he had felt _blocked_ every time he brought up anything to do with the Order.

Draco wanted to be angry. He wanted to scream and shout and hurl a thousand accusations at her. Instead, he let the tension in his muscles release and placed his hand over hers.

_Are you with me?_ He relayed silently.

_They'll kill us both, Malfoy._

_I won't let them._

Suddenly, there were booming explosions coming from outside the tent, alerting both of them to the unwelcomed apparition of intruders to their encampment. She pulled away from his touch, and he felt her impenetrable, mental wall go up again.

He heard a familiar low grumble followed by higher-pitch bickering. His head snapped up to meet her alarmed gaze and a sinking feeling settled low in his stomach as he realized that today marked _exactly_ three weeks of them hiding out here.

Granger was supposed to mend the protective charm surrounding them today just like she did every week on the day… but this time, she hadn't (no thanks to him being balls deep inside of her both last night _and_ this morning).

_Fuck_.

He knew it would be a matter of seconds before whoever Tom had sent after her would waltz into the tent and kill her. They'd likely kill him too because although he was a skilled legilimens, he was no match for Tom and he was quite certain Tom's favoritism didn't cover lust or love for the enemy.

"Kill me," he said to her.

"No,"

"Fucking hell, Granger!" He hissed. "Whoever is outside right now won't hesitate to kill _you_." _Or me_, he silently added to himself.

"I'd like to see them try," she replied stiffly.

"This is _not_ the time for your idiotic sense of heroism,"

"I can't leave you,"

"You have to," he begged. Her eyes flickered to his wounded leg and he could see the pain in her eyes. "I'm a liability. You can probably get away, run far away or apparate, without me holding you back. You need to leave me, Granger, and you need to kill me."

"I can't!" She wailed.

"You have to. For fuck's sake, Granger, do it before they - "

Too late.

_Fuck._

_Fuck fuck fuck_.

His heart sank when the Carrow twins walked through the tent's flap. Alecto was a skilled legilimens and could read him in minutes; she would know Granger's secret _as well as_ his altercations with her.

He was royally, properly, and utterly _fucked_.

They both were.

"My, my," Alecto said, taking in the scene before her with hungry, beady eyes. "What have we here?"

Amycus strode over to where Granger was sitting on the floor, perched inches away from where Draco sat at the edge of his cot.

"Well, Sister," Amycus drawled. "I believe we've found the enigmatic Draco Malfoy… and – Oh look! – His mudblood plaything! Godric, Draco, you didn't mention Tom assigned you to her for _this_,"

Alecto lowered the hood of her Death Eater robes, her platinum hair falling into perfect waves, and grinned devilishly at Draco.

He willed himself to remain strong for Granger's sake. If Alecto even so much as _suspected_…

"Sister," Amycus ventured. "I know we came here to kill the mudblood, but would it be so terrible if Draco were to… Oh, I don't know… die in the crossfire?"

Alecto slid her icy gaze from Draco to her brother, then the corners of her mouth twitched up infinitesimally.

"Excellent idea, Brother," she remarked.

Amycus' wand was at Draco's throat before he dared to inhale another breath.

"No!" Granger squealed. "Don't touch him! Don't you _dare_!"

"Hush," Alecto said, flicking her wand so that Granger ended up bound by rope to one of the nearby wooden chairs.

Amycus only laughed, a cruel and maniacal laugh that reminded him extremely uncomfortably of his aunt.

"Let me guess," Amycus taunted. "Your father will hear about this?"

He erupted again into a fit of maddening laughter; his sister merely huffed her indignation. It seemed as though she was not fond of having to follow through with this particular errand and wanted it to be done with sooner rather than later.

"Hurry up and kill him, will you?" She said impatiently, proving his suspicions regrettably correct.

"LET HIM GO," Granger roared, fighting her restraints. "TAKE ME INSTEAD!"

"No," he croaked.

"_Shut up_," Amycus hissed at the same time Alecto's eyes narrowed, her gaze flickering from Granger's to his, then back again.

Draco could practically see the wheels turning in her vile mind.

"Why - " She began quietly, addressing no one in particular – "Would a filthy mudblood, a member of the insipid Order no less, volunteer to take the place of a notorious Death Eater, responsible for killing her precious allies?"

"They were _fucking_," Amycus spat. "I thought that was quite obvious, Sister."

"Oh, no," she tilted her head, analyzing the two of them with excruciating deliberateness. "It's much more than that, I think, dear Brother."

"Does it really matter? We're going to kill both of them anyway, right?"

Amycus twisted his wand further into Draco's windpipe, rendering him effectively mute.

"Too true," Alecto agreed, shrugging her delicate shoulders beneath the heavy, black robes.

"NO," Granger bellowed. "DON'T TOUCH HIM. LET HIM GO. TAKE ME. _TAKE ME_,"

Amycus ignored her, "_Ava_ \- "

" - _NO_! - "

"Wait,"

Alecto held up her hand, stopping her brother's curse, and focused her piercing blue eyes on Granger with renewed curiosity.

"Why would you think you would be more valuable to us alive than dead?"

Amycus grunted his disapproval, "When did she say that, Sister?"

"She said 'Take me' not 'Kill me', Brother. _Do_ listen more closely, will you?" She sighed. Then, Alecto crossed the room to stare at Granger. "Why?" She pressed.

Granger hesitated.

"_Crucio_,"

Draco writhed in pain, feeling the pain of a thousand bites occurring all over his body. Every inch of his skin was on _fire_. Nothing would make it stop. Nothing would alleviate the pain. Only death. It was always death.

Then, mercifully, it stopped.

He blinked back tears, trying to drag his exhausted body up from its new position on the ground to see Granger glaring at Alecto furiously through her own tears.

"I'll reveal everything to him just… just let Draco go. Take me instead. Take me. Let him go."

"Hm," Alecto said, reveling in her newfound discovery. "The Canary _would_ be quite the catch, and not to mention it would certainly result in us taking Malfoy's place as Tom's favorite, don't you think Brother?"

"Oh, yes. Definitely." He agreed.

"Wait," Granger said, panicked. "You said – You _promised _-"

"Ah, yes, well… We lied." Alecto replied, grinning mischievously. "Hurry up, now, Brother. We have more important things to attend to, today."

"Yes, Sister."

Draco readied himself, coiled to attack, and the second Amycus turned away from his sister and Granger, he dispelled a swift _confringo_ onto him. He flung himself toward the dropped wand, taking it in his hand – the one that wasn't tightly gripping Granger's wand – as he narrowly avoided the collapsing body engulfed in flames.

Then, he ducked an incoming hex from Alecto and bit his lip as he brought himself to his feet, bearing weight on his bad leg with gritted teeth.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

"_Stupefy!"_

He barely missed the curse, his own spell hitting something just to the right of Alecto's head, and he suddenly reprimanded himself for allowing Granger's infuriating sense of morality seep into his veins.

He should be flinging his own bloody _Avada's_ not countering them with fucking _stupefy_'s.

Fucking hell.

Their spells, his changing between numerous hexes and jinxes while hers remained consistent on the one, finalizing curse, continued to bounce off the walls of the tent, avoiding hitting either of them (and luckily Granger, too who was still bound to the chair).

"You're a traitor, Malfoy." Alecto snapped, ducking an _obscuro_.

"Eh," he huffed, "I've been called worse."

Finally, a body-binding spell struck her with a brute force, sending her petrified body into the table, splitting it in two and disappearing beneath the splintered wood. He rushed over to Granger, releasing her from her binds and placing her wand back in her hand, pocketing Amycus' before stepping through the broken wood to retrieve Alecto's.

Draco let his hand hover behind the small of her back, leading her outside the tent and hobbling along with her. Then, he directed unconscious bodies of the Carrow twins to a rough patch in the woods and, to be safe, murmured an _obliviate_ over both of them.

He returned to the campsite and took Granger's hand in his, finally exhaling a sigh of equal parts relief and content. He glanced briefly at her, pursing his lips, before setting her entire camp aflame.

"Sorry about your home," he muttered. Then, because he couldn't help himself, added, "Well, if it really even qualifies for a home. For fuck's sake, Granger, the least you could do was invest in a proper mattress."

"You're wrong, you know." She said, wistfully.

He arched a skeptical brow, "About what?"

"You still _are_ an egotistical prat,"

He groaned as she stifled a laugh in his neck, leaning into him. Instinctively, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"What happens now?" She asked tentatively.

"We buy you a bigger tent," he replied automatically. "One suitable for an egotistical prat."

She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder as they watched the flames slowly destroy the encampment.

"Why don't you just kill me instead?"

"I don't want to kill you," he shrugged. "Call it my debilitating belief in morals."

"Ha-_ha_," she replied gruffly, then shoved him, but he could feel her ribs vibrating against his as she hid her laughter.

He shook his head, fighting the smile threatening to break out on his face.

"Fuck you,"

"Please do,"

**END**

* * *

**A/N - **Thank you for being so patient with updates for this collection! I have _so_ many planned for the upcoming months including some steamy ones and some really fluffy ones. I got into a bit of tunnel-vision with my current WIP (_Revelations_, which is halfway done ahhh) and my next one so that's why I haven't updated in so long. But I'm back on track now (she says optimistically) xx


	11. Bad Blood

_**Bad Blood**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Parkingrass (Pansy x Daphne) and hidden pairing

_Summary: _Enigmatic gang leader Draco Malfoy is cunning and cut-throat, but with the local authorities in his back pocket he is virtually untouchable. Newly minted secret agent Hermione Granger is tasked with going deep undercover and infiltrating the gang. Darkish Dramione. 1920s Muggle AU.

It is (loosely) influenced by _Peaky Blinders_ as well as _Great Gatsby_ but is not intended to be directly based on either and no previous knowledge or experience on either of them is necessary. It _is_ intended to be quite a dark read so please be advised there _will_ be violence, language, etc.

* * *

_24 December 1924_

_BELOVED BACHELOR MISSING: A REFLECTION OF HIS LIFE AND LEGACY_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_It is with heavy hearts that Britain comes to terms with the horrific truth of Mr. Draco Malfoy's disappearance. He was pronounced missing yesterday after notably failing to show at this year's Christmas Charity Gala at Buckingham Palace. Mr. Malfoy was expected to give a speech as elected Man of the Year. His mother, Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy, was present at the gala but as of this morning, when the official notice of Mr. Malfoy as a missing person was released, withheld from making any comments on his elusive disappearance. _

_In honor of Mr. Malfoy's incredibly charitable life and election as Man of the Year, the _Daily Prophet_ has allowed me the distinguished opportunity of writing a reflection on the life of such a young, generous, and kind man and the legacy he left behind. For someone who has been in the spotlight for nearly six years, there is much to cover and I hope to do it all justice as we wait anxiously for any news on Mr. Malfoy's whereabouts and wellbeing._

It's interesting, to say the least, how Rita Skeeter and arguably almost everyone in the United Kingdom believed Draco to be some darling saint sent to cure all illnesses and stop world hunger or something of the like. I knew better. I knew exactly the kind of monster he truly was behind closed doors.

Yet, against every logical cell in my brain, I loved him anyway. Love. Present tense.

You know, reading this pile of rubbish, it occurred to me that perhaps I should reflect on my own life and legacy a bit seeing as it's about to end.

I never really put much thought into how I would die, which is remarkable considering how many times I've faced death. I guess dying for the sake of a loved one is a pretty good way to go. Courageous even. Brave. I can say with absolute certainty that I consider Draco Malfoy to be a loved one of mine, though I wasn't always so sure. In fact, from the very first time we met, perhaps even earlier, I swore to myself I would never fall for a man of his likeness. He was nothing but trouble. I suppose in retrospect it's no surprise that my falling in love with him is the entire reason I'm even in this mess. That I'm about to die. Or worse, get fired.

I know, I know.

I have got to sort out my priorities.

* * *

_1 January 1920_

Hermione Granger was the sort of person who was always prepared. At any given time, one would find approximately three pens, two bobbles, loads of tissues, and a novel on her person. She spent hours and hours reading material on subjects most people found boring or extraneous and studying anything that had even an ounce of relevance to what she was currently working on. Hermione Granger was, plainly put, a hard worker.

It was why her boss had not been at all shocked that she had been available to come into the office on short notice and on a holiday, no less. "It's urgent," he had told her. No other explanation had been given, and no more was needed either. "I'll be right there," she had responded, quickly ditching her casual attire for an office-appropriate dress.

She shook off the snow flurries and handed her coat to the doorman, then hurried up the stairs. Her work was on an ambiguous floor of an ambiguous office building north of the Thames, just like all of the others on this side of London. However, unlike the others in London – including those who shared the same plain building – her work was anything but ordinary, well technically speaking.

Hermione had always admired the police; the brave men – and newly – women who protected the citizens of London and provided them with much-needed safety from the crime ridden city. She'd dreamt of one day joining their ranks and contributing to the greater good, and just a year ago she'd been given that opportunity (the war taking most of their men from them had a lot to do with that, but nonetheless, she was grateful).

She'd passed the entrance exam with flying colors, but in all that time she hadn't once left the bullpen. Secured firmly to her desk and its endless pile of paperwork, Hermione hadn't so much as helped an elderly woman cross the road. It was going to pay off one day, she told herself every morning. They would see her value. They would trust her.

The harsh lighting of the empty office gave an eerie glow. Hermione willed her nerves to settle, the anxiety that perhaps today would be the day she would be assigned a sector and a uniform.

"Come in," Fudge, her boss, said. He fiddled with his bowler hat and gestured to the two uncomfortable looking chairs in front of his desk. She took a seat, her eyes flickering from Fudge to the dark man leaning casually against his desk. "This is Commander Shacklebolt," he added.

The dark man extended a hand to her which she shook, the scowl on his face unmoving. "Hermione Granger," she croaked. Suddenly, she felt very ill. Her boss phoning her in over the holidays was already foreboding, but to have to actual Commander of the City of London and the Metropolitan Police sitting in on their meeting was far worse.

"Miss Granger," Fudge began, taking a seat and sparking a cigarette. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No," she replied. "But I assume you are about to inform me?"

The Commander's eyes glinted, "You are here, Miss Granger, because you are invisible. You have not made a public appearance since your entrance to the force. You haven't even attended any of the trials."

It was hardly something she needed reminding of, but she forced a smile across her face. "That's true."

"I don't mean to offend you." The Commander insisted, though his tone was hardly accommodating. "You see, the fact that you don't have any strong ties to the force is exactly why you are here."

Hermione felt her heart flutter. They were absolutely going to fire her, she thought.

"Miss Granger," Fudge interrupted, handing her a clipping from a newspaper article. "Do you know who this man is?"

Of course, she did. Not one person in the entire city of London wouldn't be able to identify him with his fair hair, impeccable dress, and smug expression. Not to mention the fact that he was practically on every front page over the past year or so, since his return from the war. He had made quite the name for himself.

"Is this a trick question?"

"No, no." Fudge glanced wearily at Shacklebolt, then back at her. "Do you know him?"

"Well, I don't _know_ him, Sir. But this is Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune and the new face of their company." She placed the clipping on his desk, then looked nervously between the two men, both much higher in rank and playing some game she didn't deign to know. "Why does it matter if I know who he is?"

"Well, Miss Granger, we have good reason to believe Mr. Malfoy is involved in some very serious crimes." The Commander stated. "We have tried to catch him, of course, but the man is very good at covering his tracks and losing our tails."

"Crimes?" She asked, disbelieving that London's beloved bachelor could be accused of such things, much less guilty of them.

"Mostly white-collar ones," Fudge informed her with a wave of his hand. He puffed out several clouds of smoke. "Embezzlement, money laundering, tax evasion… the usual for his kind."

"So, why am I here?"

The Commander exchanged a look with her boss, then clasped his hands firmly together. "We need an inside man," he told her. "… or woman, in your case." She blinked several times, barely resisting sputtering nonsense before these two very powerful men.

* * *

Two weeks later, Hermione knocked firmly on an inconspicuous door in the middle of one of the rougher sectors of London and said, "Fortuna major," when the eye slit opened. She was ushered in quickly, then greeted by a solemn Commander Shacklebolt.

"Miss Granger," he nodded, gesturing for her to join him and the others – all men – around the table in the dimly room. "How are you feeling?"

"Nervous," she answered honestly. He didn't say anything else, which was just as well since they both knew there was not much else to be said. What they were doing was dangerous. What they were doing could get her killed.

_They_ were the Aurors, belonging to an incredibly secret organization within the police agency known as the Ministry which had been created to step in when the Metropolitan Police were unable or unwilling to step in. In this case, both were applicable.

"From this moment on," Shacklebolt told her. "You will be known as Penelope Clearwater, understood?" She nodded. "We curated an impenetrable background for you seeing as Mr. Malfoy will no-doubt look into you as soon as you make contact. He is notoriously cunning, be warned." She nodded again, biting her lower lip. His final words, however, she found most daunting. "This is the last time we will be in contact with you, Miss Granger. You will not hear from us, do you understand? You are going deep, deep undercover. Until you have unbreakable evidence, do not contact us. I repeat, _do not contact us_."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. Understood. To reveal herself was to die. Mr. Malfoy was a very dangerous man, despite his glamor in the newspapers and his appearances at grand galas. He was not to be trusted.

"Very well," Shacklebolt sighed. "Get going then, and Miss Granger?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck."

* * *

This was perfect, just bloody perfect.

Hermione, well technically Penelope Clearwater, was supposed to be a gifted assistant (for an accomplished and wealthy family who was actually not fictitious but had been paid well by the Ministry for their involvement in this top-secret case). How exactly was she supposed to show how talented of an assistant she was and how beneficial she would be to the young Mr. Malfoy if she couldn't even drive a car.

In her defense, she had never driven a car. Had not even so much as owned one. Only the extremely wealthy had the luxury to afford such extravagance since they had only just become part of the market a year ago and were still quite expensive to own and operate. Hermione was, of course, not part of the upper class and had never been. Though her parents were not poor by any means, both dentists with their own flourishing practice, they still had never spoiled her with unnecessary purchases.

She wondered briefly if the brilliant Commander Shacklebolt had ever considered her actual background when creating her undercover identity. Surely if he did, she wouldn't be currently standing on the side of the road with the hood propped and absolutely no idea of what to do about starting the car.

The road she found herself stranded on was a quiet, winding one that was located on the outskirts of London between where the rougher sectors ended, and the posh country homes began. When the roaring of an engine brought her attention to the road, Hermione waved frantically for them to stop and help her; if there was any way for her not to be late to meet with Mr. Malfoy's financial advisor, then she would have to take it.

Except, when the car slowed and pulled behind hers, she nearly had a heart attack upon seeing who was in it. Hermione fumbled with some important looking wiring under the propped hood and yanked several of them loose, then wiped her hands on her dark skirt and slipped them quickly back into her gloves before stepping aside with a nervous smile plastered on her face.

"Hello," the tall, dark-haired man said with a polite grin. "Do you need help?"

"Yes, please," she breathed.

The other man followed behind his friend and offered her a beaming smile, practically blinding her with all of its golden glory. He was attractive, she noticed. Far more attractive than any black-and-white, grainy newspaper clipping could ever attempt to capture.

"Well, you're in good hands," Mr. Malfoy told her as he and his friend came up beside her. "Theo here is an excellent engineer." The dark-haired man, with blazing blue eyes, peered under the hood of her car before shooting his friend a playful smirk.

Then, he turned to her with an earnest expression, "I'm really not, Miss, just good at working with my hands." At the possibly double entendre, Hermione flushed furiously and averted her gaze.

Mr. Malfoy laughed, and it lit up his entire face. His brilliant eyes sparkled in the afternoon sunlight, displaying a gorgeous shade of silver that she imagined would be difficult to not be enthralled by. It was no wonder the papers were so in love with him. Spending just seconds in his presence had already made her heart do something murderous in her chest.

He looked at her with a cheeky smile, then proffered his hand to her. She took it, and he bent to place a kiss on her gloved hand. "What is your name, Miss?"

"He - " A cough. "Err, Penelope Clearwater."

If he noticed her almost-slip, then he was polite enough not to mention it, and Hermione silently counted her blessings. She really needed to work on that because she was sure Commander Shacklebolt would be most upset if she went and got herself killed before she even collected any notable evidence on this supposed criminal. Though, as he stood before her, she couldn't imagine him to be guilty of anything aside from his godly looks.

"I am Draco Malfoy," he told her, then nodded to his friend who was elbow deep in grease. "That's Theodore Nott."

"Just Theo," the man said, pulling a handkerchief from his pinstripe suit and wiping his hands on it. He gave her a sorrowful nod, "I'm afraid there's nothing that can be done about your vehicle at the moment, Miss."

"Oh," she sighed.

"Never mind that," Mr. Malfoy said, waving a hand toward her car. "I can get someone to come and work on it properly first thing tomorrow. For now, how about you let us give you a ride to wherever you need to go?"

"I couldn't possibly, Mr. Malfoy," she started, but he cut her off with a charming smile and beckoned for her to follow him and Theo to their car.

"I insist," he told her. "Also, please call me Draco. Mr. Malfoy is far too formal and only reminds me of my father." She nodded, then let him guide her into the front seat and tried not to flush as he sat on one side of her with Theo behind the wheel on the other. "Where were you heading to?"

She bit her lip, "Malfoy Mansion, actually."

"Ah," Draco exchanged a knowing glance with Theo. "I take it you're the interviewee that Blaise was scheduled to meet with, Miss Clearwater?" He must have caught the brief grimace across her face and laughed. "You don't like your name?" There was an unspoken inquiry that reminded her sharply of the warnings Shacklebolt had given her about how dangerous he was and silently scolded herself for forgetting.

"I'm not used to being called that is all," she replied, trying to sound confident. "Everyone calls me Penelope." She lied.

"Penelope," he repeated, testing the name on his lips. "I don't think you look like a Penelope."

She saw something glint darkly behind his eyes, turning them into a dark and stormy grey. Hermione fixed him with her best flirtatious smile, "No? Then what do I look like?"

"Like a shiny new penny, all bronze and eager to be of value." He told her, his words ringing unforgivingly true. The hint of anything dark and dangerous gone in an instant, and a brilliant smile warmed his face, bringing it back to its former glory. To the Draco Malfoy that all of Britain had fallen in love with over the past year.

"Penny it is, then." She dimpled, returning his smile before directing her attention to the road ahead, noticing that they were about to pass through one of the rougher, poorer sectors just outside of the rich, new neighborhoods.

"Draco," Theo muttered, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

Hermione watched as Draco surveyed the streets, then gave Theo a clipped response of, "Stop the car." He turned to her and said in a low, warning tone, "Stay here, Penny. Whatever happens next, _do not get out of the car_." In a single swift movement, both he and Theo were out of the car and lowering their newsboy caps – she noticed with heightened intrigue that the minute they did, every person milling about the dirty streets immediately fled and hid – as they strode down the cobblestone paths and turned into a dark alley.

Although she was terrified, Hermione hopped out of the safety of the vehicle and followed the two of them down the dark alley. There was no way she was going to collect and useful evidence if she didn't take risks like this, and besides, how else was she expected to discover exactly what crimes Draco was guilty of or how he carried them out if she did everything he told her to do?

"What the fuck are you doing here, Malfoy?" Someone snapped. His appearance was a stark comparison of Theo and Draco's with his suit not well-fitted and covered in soot. His hair, dark as night, stood on all-ends and made him look younger while at the same time the spectacles that framed his thin face and made him look years older. In reality, Hermione would've guessed his true age was not far off from hers.

"We own these fucking streets, Potter," Theo spat, taking Hermione by complete surprise with his malicious tone and vulgar vocabulary.

"Not _these_, fucker," he growled. The three ginger-haired men, all equally as filthy and starved as so-called Potter, standing behind him glowered at the two sophisticated men before them and the one to his right – not one of the identical twins – whispered in his ear. Potter's head snapped up, "Who's the bird?"

All of their heads turned to look at Hermione, and she felt her swallow get caught in the back of her throat. Her eyes flickered from Theo's, predictably hostile from his previous argument with Potter, to Draco's; his eyes were dark and unreadable, though she could tell from the tension in his shoulders and the clenching of his hands into fists that he was livid.

Luckily, he spared her any harsh comments and turned back to the others. "None of your business, Potter."

"Oh?" The other man taunted. "Is she important to you? Perhaps, she has something to do with the sudden influx of Aunti in the streets. Is that how you're funding your empire now, Malfoy?"

"No idea what you're on about," Draco replied, his tone shockingly calm.

"Oh, please," Potter scoffed. "As if you don't have a hand in that. I can't think of anyone else wealthy enough in this city to sell crystals that fine-grade."

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you?" Theo sneered.

The ginger beside Potter, his apparent second-in-command, flushed instantly at the slight and produced a blade. The rest of his side following suit, all brandishing blades at Theo, Draco, and now Hermione who had moved to stand behind the two men she came with.

"I'll cut your venomous tongue out of your mouth, you Death Eater scum!" He threatened, lips snarling.

Theo chuckled, "I'd like to see you try," then he opened his arms teasingly at the dark-haired man and stepped closer into his range with no visible weapon ready. "Come on, Potter, put your blade where your filthy Order-mouth is!" Hermione inhaled sharply, suddenly very worried for him; he and Draco were easily outnumbered, and she was quite the liability, but neither of them seemed worried. If anything, they seemed amused.

Potter brandished his blade, placing it just below Theo's jaw and backing him into the brick wall; his hand holding it close enough to his throat to draw a bit of blood while his other arm pressed the tall figure firmly against the hard surface. Theo merely laughed.

Draco had shifted to stand in front of Hermione, holding out his arm as if his strong stance alone would protect her from the three menacing, knife-wielding men facing them. He took off his flat cap, holding it securely in his other hand and waving it before them as he spoke. "Come any closer, Weasleys, and none of you will make it home for your watered soup and stale bread."

"Fuck you!" One of the twins growled.

Hermione was shoved hastily aside, colliding harshly with the brick wall opposite Theo; she slid to the wet ground and blinked back tears to see one of the blades sitting not far from her, and Draco storming toward the others – the Weasleys – with his cap angled toward them. She wondered briefly if she was about to witness his horrible death at the hands of three violent gang members but was shocked to see him hold his own against them.

His fist shot out, squarely connecting with the non-twin's nose and sending him stumbling backwards, hands flying up to catch the pool of blood coming from the shattered bone. While he was momentarily out of commission, Draco took on the twins, wildly throwing his cap toward them as well as his fists; the three of them were landing blows on each other almost equally, though she could tell from the growing cuts on the twins and the lack of blood on Draco, that he was the far more skilled fighter.

Meanwhile, Theo had turned the tables on Potter and had him pinned against the wall with his fists clenched around the other's lapels. Hermione caught the glint of silver in Potter's hands and screamed, _"__Theo!"_ but he had already bent his head and knocked it into Potter's, leaving him with a massive welt and cut on his forehead.

It occurred to Hermione in that moment that Theo and Draco weren't without weapons. The fold in their caps must have a blade of some kind in it, and she found herself bewildered by the brilliance of their weapon.

There was a loud grunt from the other side of the alley where Draco had rendered the twin's unconscious, their lanky figures crumpling to the ground with a thud. He stumbled backwards for a moment, taking deep and laborious breaths, then steadied himself against the wall and turned to look at her. In that instance of vulnerability, the last brother chose to throw himself at Draco and bring him to the ground, rolling on top of him and pummeling fists at his face.

"_Draco,"_ Hermione shrieked, frozen. Something in her told her to help him, to protect him. She fumbled around, crawling toward the blade the other man had thrown at them earlier and taking it between her trembling hands. Never in her life had she had to endure such violence.

However, before she could turn back to the brawl, there were grimy hands wrapping around her neck and pressing her face into the ground. Hermione struggled, instinctually bucking against the weight of the man bearing down on her, but then the voice of her trainer at the academy kicked in and she flung her arm out, intent on digging the knife into any flesh she could.

There was a disgruntled scream and then miraculously the weight on her lifted. Hermione spun and kicked the ginger man off of her with every effort she could scrape up, her chest heaving as she gasped for air.

Draco yanked the man back and shoved him up against the brick wall, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. "How dare you put a fucking hand on her." He snarled. "Have you absolutely no manners, Weasley, attacking a woman?" He shoved the man against the wall, likely concussing him. "You and your fucking Order swear you're all high and mighty, when you're just as much of a filthy gang as the Death Eaters. More so, in my opinion, since we don't go around messing with innocent women and children, eh?"

"Innocent?" He choked. "She was brandishing a fucking blade!"

Draco twisted the other man's arm farther behind his back until he gave an agonizing cry of pain. "I don't give a single _fuck_ if she had a knife, Weasley. She could have had a fucking revolver aimed at your pathetic skull for all I care," he seethed. "Don't fucking touch her."

Theo came up behind Draco and pulled him away from the man, then shoved him toward Hermione as he glared at the spluttering man. "Potter, I believe your friend over here could use some help." The dark-haired man Theo had been fighting was adjusting his broken spectacles and clambering to get up from the ground, sparing Theo a vicious look before angling himself toward his entourage.

Draco clapped Theo on his back, "Let's get the fuck out of here, Nott." Then, he helped Hermione to her feet and narrowed his eyes at her, "You alright, Pen?"

"I - " She hesitated, letting her mind catch up as the buzzing of her muscles disbanded into exhaustion. "I'm fine, yeah. Thank you." Without another word, he took her elbow in his iron-clad grip and directed her toward the car.

* * *

"You _what_?"

A stylish woman stormed back and forth, pacing before the fireplace of a grand sitting room with her hands on her hips and her hair – half platinum blonde and half jet black – coming loose from her previously perfect chignon as she whipped her head furiously around. Hermione's shoulders snapped back at the shrillness of the woman's voice, but Draco and Theo seemed unbothered, as if this sort of thing happened all the time.

"What exactly did you think you were bloody doing?" She demanded.

"Mother," Draco sighed, removing the damp cloth from his swollen, split lip. It was the only evidence that he had been injured in the street fight.

"Don't," she warned, wagging a disapproving finger at him before storming over to a bar tray and pouring herself a tall glass of dark liquid from one of the many crystal decanters. She took a large, unladylike gulp, then narrowed her gaze at the two men, avoiding Hermione entirely. "What happened?"

Theo's icy blue eyes flickered over Hermione, "Narcissa," he ventured in a cautious tone.

"Oh, forget about her. She might as well overhear this, too. The poor girl has already seen too much," her gaze darkened, relaying something that Hermione didn't understand but both of them seemed to, nodding along. "Any bloody minute now, gentlemen. What the fuck happened?"

If Hermione hadn't been shocked by their hidden vulgarity before, then she was now. For a family whose pristine manners and saint-like demeanor was always in the news, being adored by all, they were contrasting in nearly every way imaginable behind closed doors.

"Members of the Order," Theo supplied. "They were walking around the Wandsworth like they fucking owned the place." He, like Draco, hardly had any noticeable injuries from the fight, save for a few cuts.

The woman – Narcissa Malfoy, Hermione deducted – huffed. "I've _told_ you. I've told both of you a million times! You are not to engage them the night before any public events. Now, how the bloody hell do you expect me to cover up any bruises – or these cuts, Nott! – so that neither of you look like the heathens you are in front of the cameras, hm?"

"It's not like we planned on fighting them in the middle of the streets," Theo groaned.

"A likely story," she spat, taking another sip of the whiskey. "You say that every time and it's starting to lose all its meaning."

"Mother," Draco began, but she cut him off again.

"Don't you start with me, Draco. You're lucky that the Order has absolutely no credentials in the media given their own reputation, but this one?" She gestured to Hermione. "Something has to be done about her. Why was she even there?"

"I told her to stay in the car," he said between gritted teeth.

"Well!" Narcissa chuckled, sending shivers down Hermione's spine. "That didn't work, did it, my darling son?"

"Clearly," he replied, voice clipped.

"That doesn't explain why she was even accompanying you two in the first place." The woman noted.

Theo crossed his arms, leaning against the velvet armchair Draco was lounging in. "She's the woman Blaise was supposed to be interviewing today for the assistant position." Hermione felt all of their eyes on her before they turned back to each other, continuing to talk about her as if she wasn't even in the room. "Miss Penelope Clearwater?" He said to Narcissa.

She choked on a laugh, "As if I'm supposed to remember the name of every bloody bimbo Blaise drags into here looking for one job or another." She refilled her glass, swirling the dark liquid around. "Doesn't matter, she's still a liability. She knows too much."

"I know, Mother," Draco assured her, his jaw clenched.

"Good."

After a few minutes of silence, Narcissa sighed and sank back into a loveseat, eying the two boys before her. "What the fuck were you two thinking? Of all people and of all days and with someone else there to witness your misdeeds?"

"It was Potter," Theo grumbled, his face contorting at the mention of the boy's name.

"Bloody hell," Narcissa murmured into her glass. Her tired gaze fell on her son, "Draco, you're really going to have to try harder to keep Theo away from that retched, filthy boy."

He sighed, a hint of a smirk twitching at his lips. "I know, Mother."

She emptied the glass again, then set it aside with a loud clang as it hit the marble table. "You think you two can take on Potter and – what, the Weasleys?" Theo nodded obediently. "– You think you can take them on by yourselves, hm? Rid of us of those good-for-nothing miscreants? They have bloody army, Draco! The entire fucking Order of the Phoenix would be on our doorsteps by first light if we dared to kill one of their precious members. You think we can handle that, hm?"

"Yes, I think, Mother." Draco told her. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, toying with the pink-stained cloth in his scraped hands. "That's what I do. I think." He stood, poured himself a drink and downed it before continuing, standing over her, his voice low. "I think… so, that you don't have to."

Narcissa didn't drop her gaze, didn't surrender to him.

A timid voice sounded from the other side of the double door, and Draco reacted by backing away from his mother and throwing the cloth into the fire. Theo, recognizing the signs of dismissal, straightened from his position and crossed over to where Hermione sat, watching this entire interaction in dumbfounded silence.

"It seems that dinner is ready," Draco said.

"The girl." Narcissa reminded him.

"The girl has a name, Mother, and she can at least stay for dinner, hm?" He replied. "I heard Dobby prepared his famous roast and it would be a crime for her not to have ever tasted it." At her dubious expression, he added, "Don't worry, it won't change anything."

"It better not."

Hermione felt her throat tighten at the clear threat on her life but found no words as her tongue sat heavy and thick and completely useless in her mouth. Theo's arm was on her shoulder then, and his lips at her ear, instructing her to kindly follow him to the dining area. Hermione exhaled a shaky breath, scared out of her mind and finding her previous blade-wielding bravery to be shriveled up and dried out, and followed Theo out of the room and down the hall.

* * *

The first thing Hermione noticed after taking a seat at Narcissa's enormous dining table was the inequality of men and women present. There were seven men, though all of them appeared to be around Draco's age, and only four women including Hermione. It was evident that this was not a celebratory dinner where the numbers would have been far more even given Narcissa's stature but instead it seemed to be more of a meeting.

There was mindless chatter as the plates were brought out until a beautiful, ebony-skinned boy stared at Hermione with curious eyes and finally said, "Who are you exactly?"

She immediately looked to Draco, sitting at the head of the table with Narcissa on his right and Theo on his left next to Hermione, for a sign of approval. He nodded wordlessly to her, something sparking behind his eyes. "I'm Penelope Clearwater," she supplied with a strained, polite smile.

The man sat back with a confident smirk, "Ah," his eyes surveyed her less-than-pristine appearance with amused eyes. "That explains why you never showed for your interview this afternoon."

"You're Mr. Zabini?" Theo began immediately choking on his water, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Hermione bit her lip, resisting the urge to ask what he thought was so amusing or if she had said something horrifyingly inaccurate and embarrassing.

"Yes," the other man assured her, shooting daggers at Theo as he chewed on a vegetable. "Mr. Blaise Zabini, though most everyone calls me Blaise."

From farther down the table, one of the other two women whom Hermione hadn't been introduced to (she hadn't been introduced to any of them, rudely enough, but she suspected they didn't find it worth it seeing as she had completely ruined her potential employment here) cleared her throat, or stifled a chuckle it was hard to tell, and looked back and forth between Draco and Narcissa. "I take it she won't be filling that position, then?"

"No," Narcissa replied. "She won't be." Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to hide her anger and disappointment at her hasty reply by drinking half of her glass of water.

Then, like children being let loose on the playground, the entirety of the dinner party began conversing loudly over one another about anything and everything. At first, it calmed Hermione but as she listened closely to their individual conversations, she felt less and less sure their sudden comfort in her presence was a good sign. It seemed that they no longer cared what she overheard them say, most of which being criminal in nature.

"So," Blaise said, leaning over to talk to the man next to him. "Marcus, what do you think of those new Tommy guns, hm?"

"Bloody fucking heavy," the pale, dark-haired man – Marcus – replied with a huff.

The man across from him then chimed in with a mouthful of bread to say, "That's because you aren't the strapping young man you used to be, eh?" He laughed obnoxiously, taunting the other. He turned to one of the women next to him, the petite blonde one of the two, and said, "What do you think, Daph, you think Marcus needs to go back in the trenches and lose that gut?"

The woman narrowed her eyes at him, not replying, and instead turned to the young woman next to her who had spoken up earlier. Her raven hair cropped and curled in a similar fashion that would likely make supermodels styling the new look like plain schoolgirls, immediately making Hermione envious of their easily manageable hair and perfect complexions and style.

"Pans, did you see that the trains will be down until the end of next week? We'll have to call a car to drive us back." The blonde – Daph – said. The other woman rolled her eyes and grimaced, poking uninterestedly at her peas.

"It's ridiculous," Pans complained. "I'm not sitting in a car for that bloody long. I want a first-class train ticket in my hand by the end of _this _week and a glass of Chardonnay in the other. Don't they know we're practically Death Eater's ourselves?" – the man named Marcus coughed, "Don't make me laugh, Pans," but she ignored him – "How hard can it be, honestly?" The blonde then nodded her agreement and the two of them immediately devolved into a conversation comparing what Hermione guessed to be designer dressmakers.

"– one of the finest firearms I've ever handled," Blaise was boasting. When the other two he had previously been in conversation with continued to argue about whether or not it would be worth it to bet on what Hermione presumed to be a racing horse named Bullseye because they knew the race would be fixed, then Blaise turned to Theo and Draco to continue. "It can fire off nearly nine-hundred rounds a minute. Not to mention it's got a stellar range."

Theo took the bait, "Get these from your beloved coppers, did you Zabini?" At the mention of coppers, Hermione felt herself drawn to their conversation and focused on what they were saying while trying to tune out the others. She also noticed that at the same time Narcissa and Draco were exchanging a series of glances. "How much did this little investment cost the company?"

Blaise scoffed, "Please, Nott. Don't insult me."

The two of them continued bantering but Hermione felt herself lose interest as the argument steered away from the criminal act of not only owning military-grade machine guns, but also getting them _from_ the local police. It occurred to her then that when Shacklebolt had said that previous attempts to tail and infiltrate the Malfoys had failed it must have been because the local police were already in their pocket. It confounded her.

She was trying to school her face so as not to reveal any outright opposition to the mention of dirty coppers or what they meant to her specifically when she caught Draco's eye; his eyes, she noticed, were always a dead give-away for when his body was unreadable. At the moment, his hands were relaxed as they cut at his roast and his shoulders were slumped as he leaned to the side to listen to Narcissa's quiet commentary. However, his eyes were not light and silvery and playful like how they had been when she first met him. When he had been smiling down on her with all of his godlike splendor. Instead, they were shadowy and haunting and cruel.

His punishing glance reminded her how insistent Narcissa had been that Hermione was not to be trusted. That she was a problem that needed to be dealt with immediately. That she was unwelcome. It sent shivers down her spine and caused the hair on the back of her arm to stand on its ends. It scared her.

Mr. Draco Malfoy, the papers wonderful golden boy had a dark and dangerous soul, she thought. They had no idea. They loved him, they wanted him, they practically _worshipped _him. It was all a lie. He was not an angel, a saint sent to lift them up and save them from this sodden earth. No. He was the devil incarnate, a threat to everything good. He had a hidden agenda; she was sure of it.

The investigator inside of her told her she needed to stay on this case, needed to stay on with the Malfoys in any way that she could, and learn everything there is to know about their evil empire. Commander Shacklebolt had been on to something, sure, with his accusations of the Malfoys being guilty of their aristocratic white-collar crimes. Hermione figured they most likely were guilty of those various crimes, but she also knew now that there was so much more that they were guilty of. There was so much more for her to uncover.

This was only the beginning.

There was the ambiguity of the Death Eaters to start. Who were they? What was their goal? Were they just some high-class gang that ran the streets of London with violence and oppression? Or, did they have a larger agenda that involved a political movement with Draco and Theo as the new, young and attractive face of the company and a hidden vengeance?

Hermione's internal reverie was interrupted as there was a loud clatter of glassware followed by an immediate scream from one of the men sitting beside her. He flung his arms about wildly, throwing plates and dishes and glassware all over the place. His screams pierced through the room and drew everyone's attention to him as he scooted back in his chair hastily trying to escape from some ghost or another that no one else could see.

"They're going to kill me!" He yelled, his eyes darting frantically around the room as he swung fists at nothing. "They're going to kill me!"

Half of the men at the table were on their feet instantly, their arms around him and dragging him to the floor. Draco and Theo were on top of him, bending his arms behind his back and applying a pressure that made Hermione squirm uncomfortably because surely the joints couldn't handle that angle for very long before snapping.

"They're going to kill me!" He repeated over and over again, his face flushing a deep crimson as the men pressed his face into the floor. The others wrangled on top of his feet and torso, helping Draco and Theo keep him secured to the hard floor.

"Vince!" Draco boomed. "Oi, Vince!"

"They're going to kill me!" The man – Vince – screamed, though the more he said it the more it dissolved into racking sobs. Pleads. "They're going to kill me, they're going to kill me,"

"Vince, you are home," Draco assured him in a calmer tone. The man's sobs continued though it seemed that the constant shushing of Theo was helping to settle his fit. "Vince, you are home. You're not in France, you are in England. You are home."

"They're not going to kill you," Theo chimed in. "You are a man. You are not an artillery shell, Vince."

"You're not a whizbang," Draco went on in a quiet, soothing voice despite the increased pressure on the man's elbow and wrist, pushing it to its breaking point. Hermione wondered if the pain was actually helping this man or if it was just their way of dealing with violence. More violence. "You're not a whizbang, Vince, you are a human being, eh?"

His sobs started to decrease in frequency and volume, leaving him quietly crying and gasping for air. Theo patted his shoulders as Draco slowly let him go, signaling for the others to do so as well. "You're alright," Theo assured him. "Come on, get up."

Hermione, from her prime seat next to the commotion, saw the man's eyes come back to reality and take in the mess of the dining table and the group of comrades encircling him. He inhaled laboriously, "Ah, fucking hell, did I do it again? Did I do it again, Draco?"

"Yeah," Draco replied, mouth tight and eyes blank. "You did it again, Vince." He patted his friend on his back then cupped a hand around the man's neck and cheek. "You have to stop doing that, Vince." There was a unanimous exhale among those in the room who had witnessed this ordeal, and Hermione felt a sinking feeling at how horrible the war had impacted the men who fought in it.

Vince let out several shaky breaths, then locked eyes with Narcissa across the room. "I'm so sorry Mrs. Malfoy. I'm so, so sorry!" She responded with an amiable nod of understanding, then returned to her glass of wine without a word.

"Come on, Vince," another man said coming up to him. He was nearly a head shorter than his friend and about twice as wide. "Let's get you to bed, eh? We'll send for some hot whiskey and a bar of chocolate. Let's go, Vince. Let's go."

"Alright, Greg." He mumbled, head down and face flushed with embarrassment. Hermione bit her lip as the two of them disappeared from the dining room. Theo let out a low whistle, then patted Draco on the back before coming to stand behind Hermione. She didn't meet his eyes. She was terrified.

"Let's go, too," Theo said to her, one hand gripping her shoulder threateningly. It was a warning, she knew, not to disobey. She nodded numbly, and let Theo lead her out of the dining room and down the hall. The minute they were on their own, away from the commotion and watchful eyes, Hermione couldn't hold her tongue anymore.

"Where are we going?" She pressed him. "Where are you taking me?"

"You ask too many questions," Theo noted, not making eye contact with her. She glowered at him and wished he and Draco didn't make her head spin with their expert change in demeanor. One minute they would be smiling and joking and flirting with her, then the next they were withdrawn and cold and throwing razor-embedded caps at foes.

* * *

He brought her to another sitting room, a smaller one than earlier, and gestured for her to sit. She did. He waited by the door, seemingly studying the dirt under the white crescents of his nails. Hermione bounced her ankle impatiently, wanting to know what the bloody hell was going on in this godforsaken manor.

"I need to use the toilettes," she said, breaking the silence. He shot her an exasperated look, but she merely bounced her legs pointedly and arched her brows at him. He sighed, then nodded for her to go through the door behind him.

"Last door on the left," Theo told her. "You have three minutes."

Hermione hurried down the corridor, checking over her shoulder and thanking god when she didn't see Theo's icy eyes watching her. She quickly assessed the paintings on the wall and tried to recall which way she'd come in. There had to be a way out of this blasted house one way or another. Surely, she was bright enough to find one. There had been something extremely sinister in Draco's eyes as they flickered from her to Theo before the latter took her away, and she didn't trust it at all.

"There's something you aren't telling me," came a voice from behind one of the many doors in the corridor.

Hermione came to an abrupt halt, then placed her ear gingerly against the hard wood. When the muted voices weren't any clearer, she moved to peer between the slit in the door to see Draco smoking, his feet propped up on a large desk, and Narcissa standing over him.

"While you and your father were off at war, I was bloody running this company so don't bother trying to pretend this has anything to do with my being a woman." There was a brief pause as Draco inhaled slowly, then exhaled smoke rings. "I'm still every bit part of this as you are, so tell me. Nothing's changed, Draco."

"Except something has changed, Mother," Draco replied. "Father didn't come back. None of them came back." He puffed out several more breaths of smoke. "But we did. I did. So, now I'm in charge of this, do you understand?"

"Draco,"

"I'm in charge of the whole bloody thing, Mother. They all look to me. I'm the leader of the fucking Death Eaters now, alright?" He swung his feet from the desk, disposed of his cigarette in an ash tray and narrowed his gaze at her. "I need you, Mother. I do. But trust me, yeah? Trust that I will tell you whatever is going on in my fucking head when the time is right."

"That's a load of crap," Narcissa flung at him. She took one of the cigarettes from his pack and lit it, exhaling smoke herself before collapsing into the seat behind her. She shook her head at her son, "You won't tell me anything until it's too late. You aren't the only one who can think, Draco. What is it, hm?"

He leaned back in his chair, regarding her with careful eyes. Hermione took a moment to check her surroundings before returning her attention to what was unfolding before her. Perhaps it would be something useful she could report back to Shacklebolt when she escaped this hellhole.

"I can always tell when you're hiding something." Narcissa added, eying her son. "Speak."

"It's the opium again." Draco finally told her.

Narcissa placed the half-used cigarette in the ash tray, "I thought that was being dealt with?"

"It was," he lamented. "I was going to have Flint take a few of the other boys who want to be recruited to go and raid one of the Order's homes. Lupin. You know, the lanky greasy one?" Narcissa nodded. Draco went on, "But today, when Theo and I jumped Potter and the Weasley brothers," – "Idiotic," she mumbled – "I discovered they weren't the ones distributing it around the city."

"How do you know?" She asked him, her brows furrowed conspiratorially.

He cleared his throat, pouring a dark liquid from a crystal decanter into two matching glasses. He handed her one, then downed half of the other one. "They told me as much." He finished the glass, then refilled it. "They think we are the ones cycling the drugs around."

"Hm," she grunted. "That's a problem."

He nodded, then pinched at the bridge of his nose. "I know. We've got to figure out who's making it, selling it. We need to find them."

Narcissa stared at him, her eyes flickering back and forth, surveying the blank expression on his face. Then, she angled herself toward him and hit him over the head several times. Draco took each blow with little more than a wince.

"Draco!" She scolded. "So, that's why there's been new coppers on the streets every week? Looking for this Aunti lab?" His mouth formed a thin line, but ultimately, he nodded. "Draco, you know we can't be seen involved in this sort of business. It's dangerous for our men to be out there knocking on doors, pulling out rifles, and searching for the drugs. The new coppers haven't been on our pay roll long enough not to snitch! You don't want to lose another man, do you? Like Yaxley?"

"Of course not," he snapped. "We don't have enough members as it is. I'm not going to send our men scouring the streets of London on no intel. I'm not that thick, Mother."

She tapped her foot petulantly, "You're not going to try and use this as a new political strategy, either, are you?"

"What, and claim to be cleaning up London, ridding it of every ounce of opium? Fuck no. Like you said, Mother, we can't be involved in anything even remotely criminal. Appearances are everything." He sighed, fingering the empty glass between his hands. "Are we going to do the usual?" His expressionless face contorting slightly at the inquiry. "About the girl."

"I don't see why not," Narcissa shrugged.

Draco sighed again, exhaling slowly and loudly. "I'll do it," he told her. She arched a brow, questioning him silently. "Don't look at me like that, Mum, I will."

Hermione didn't catch whatever Narcissa said in response because there was the loud creak of a door opening down the hall, causing her to jump back and flatten her skirt as her heart raced. She hurriedly scampered away from where she'd been eavesdropping to see Theo emerge into the corridor with a revolver in his hand. He nodded soldierly to her, but confused, Hermione turned over her shoulder to see Draco standing in the hall.

The two of them came up to her, entrapping her in the dimly light corridor with no hope of escaping now. She felt her pulse skyrocket and breathing hitch. Theo flipped the gun around, tossing it back and forth and twirling it between his deft fingers.

"Come on, Penny," Theo said, trying to guide her further down the poorly lit manor to some unseen horror. She jerked her hand away from his outstretched grasp, fumbling backwards until her spine collided with the wall behind her. Theo sighed, toying with his gun before handing it to Draco, who leveled it to her head. "Draco," Theo warned. "Narcissa won't want you to get blood on her carpet."

"No, but it doesn't look like Miss Penelope Clearwater here has any intention of following us out to the garden, either." He clicked the trigger into position, then pressed the chilled end of the barrel to her forehead. "Any last words, Penny?" Draco asked, cocking his head to the side.

Hermione tried not to panic; she tried to read his eyes, but they were vacant, cloudy and apathetic.

"Longbottom," she said, her voice rasp.

"What?" Theo questioned. His dark brows furrowed. "What did she say?" His icy, merciless eyes shifted to a more forgiving shade as he glanced between Hermione and Draco. "What did you say?"

"Longbottom," Hermione repeated. "That's who is making and distributing the opium throughout London."

She watched as Draco's eyes refocused on the scene before him; on her. He didn't move the revolver, instead pressing it further into her skin and pinning her head to the wall. "How do you know that?" – Theo shot him an accusatory glare, "How does she even know _about_ that?" – and Hermione had to admit they were both fair questions.

The second, of course, she knew from accompanying them on their street brawl earlier. At the time, she had wondered what they had really been talking about and had been racking her brain for the code words civilians used regarding the numerous drugs on the streets. Molly. Snow. Bennies. Aunti. It had been bothering her since she heard that scraggily boy, Potter, say it and it wasn't until Draco brought up the opium influx in the city that it had registered with her as to why it had been so familiar.

That would be how she knew the first question. Among her many days and nights chained to the desk, Hermione had overseen hundreds of files of ongoing cases that active officers were dealing with in the dirty, crime-ridden streets of London. The sudden appearance of high-grade, near-professional distribution of opium had been one of those cases. It eluded all of the officers, including her, until Potter had said something, had practically accused Draco of being responsible.

She presumed since his public appearance was vastly dissimilar to what he was actually like, then the same could be applied, say, to someone who was regarded as one of the most brilliant chemists of their generation.

However, given how Hermione came to know this individual, it wasn't like she could answer neither Draco nor Theo's questions.

"How the fuck do you know who is responsible for the flood of opium in the city?" Draco pushed. His eyes were slits with the pupils constricted like that of a snake, ready to attack.

Hermione refrained from biting her lip and willed herself to calm down and pretend there wasn't a firearm ready to blow her brains out. She needed to find some way to tie herself to their predicament. If she didn't, then she was as good as dead already.

"I've spent enough time around you today to know that information is key," she told Draco, surprising herself with how steady her voice was.

"Tell me or I'll blow your fucking brains out."

Her gaze flickered to Theo, noticing the tension in his slender limbs, then back to Draco. "No," she said. "If I tell you, you'll blow my fucking brains out." Hermione had never sworn in her life, not counting the hundreds of times she said bloody, of course, but she figured now was a good enough time to start. Every other woman in this messed-up family-organization-cult seemed to do so anyway. "Besides," she continued. "You need me alive or you'll have no chance of finding the Longbottom's, much less meeting with them."

He considered her, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief as he lowered the gun and placed it back in Theo's waiting hands. "Fine," he told her, not breaking their eye contact. "But you stay here." He nodded to Theo who disappeared down the hall following unspoken instructions. "As my mother keeps reminding me, you know too much. Looks like you'll be getting that position you came here for after all, Miss Clearwater."

"Penny," she corrected him. At that, a ghost of a smile teased at his perpetually downturned lips and Hermione took her first real breath since walking into this horrifying place.

* * *

The room she'd been put in was far nicer and far bigger than the one she was used to, though she supposed anything was nicer than the squalor she called a flat. It was clearly one of the advantages of living on disposable income, though whether or not that ridiculous income was funded legally and rightfully was less clear every minute she spent in Draco's presence.

Although Hermione was frightened beyond comprehension, she was at least glad that not only had she successfully avoided death that evening, but she had also secured a place in the thick of this mess. She was sure that combined with her investigatory skills and unrelenting diligence, her presence at the enigmatic gang-leader and beloved-bachelor Mr. Draco Malfoy's side would yield plentiful of evidence. Evidence she was quite certain would implicate him in more than what Shacklebolt assumed.

She wondered if her role in uncovering this bounteous information would result in a promotion. At the very least Hermione hoped to see a new uniform waiting for her upon her return and a case file that was not meant for her to file properly, but for her to read up on prior to engaging in its contents on the streets. Perhaps Shacklebolt would even offer her a permanent position on his covert Auror team in his top-secret Ministry organization.

With Hermione's mind racing through the endless possibilities, she found it impossible to fall asleep.

There was no chance of her escaping the manor – it was as impenetrable as a military fortress and as heavily armed; there were even men guarding every entrance and exit – so Hermione was not at all surprised to see that there was no one stationed outside her bedroom door in the middle of the night. It wasn't like she would make it very far in her night slip if she even dared to navigate the maze of the manor's many corridors.

As Hermione walked barefoot through the carpeted halls, peering at what appeared to be original Rembrandt's and Renoir's and Manet's, she heard the unmistakable screams of night terrors ripping through the quiet of the house. They were close by.

She shuffled quickly to the end of the hall, turning right when the screams continued. "Get out! Get out! They're going to blow the whole bloody place up! Move, Nott. _Move_!" It was Draco. She was sure of it. Hermione turned the brass knob of the door on her right and found her suspicions were correct.

Draco was twitching, spasming uncontrollably, in his bed. The covers were getting twisted around his limbs, ensnaring him further. She rushed over to him, throwing her arms across his sweat-soaked shirt and trying to hold him down. Pressure was best. Force the body to calm down and the brain will follow.

"Move, Nott. _Move_!" He kept repeating, quieter now. Hermione struggled to keep him still and clambered up onto the mattress in order to straddle him and put the full force of her weight into subduing his fit.

From her position she could see the pain in his face. The terror of thinking he was back in France fighting for his life and his country. She'd seen shell shock before, not just hours ago with the other man named Vince, but with her own friends. The ones who had made it home. The _lucky _ones, she thought bitterly. Up close, she dared to disagree with the papers who so quickly dismissed the horrors these men had gone through. How were they lucky?

There was a moment of complete silence, apart from their labored breathing, jarring Hermione back to the present. She met Draco's eyes; they shined a beautiful silver in the moonlight. Her face hovered above his, her hands positioned on either side of his head, and her body pressed firmly against his.

She could feel every muscle in his abdomen as his chest rose and fell to meet hers. She could feel the heat of his hands gripping her hips as if she was anchoring him to this world, to reality, through the thin silk fabric of her slip. She could feel his breath on her face and wondered if his lips were as soft as they looked, or if they tasted like the rush of adrenaline she constantly felt when he looked at her… and, _oh_, was he looking at her now.

"Get off of me," he instructed.

Hermione blinked. Perchance she had been imagining the gleam in his eyes. He was so very confusing, and besides, she couldn't afford to be involved with him in any romantic capacity anyway. She had a job to do. She had a mission, and kissing Draco Malfoy was _not_ part of that.

"Then let go of me," she retorted, arching a brow. His hands instantly dropped from her sides, taking their warmth with them and leaving her to shiver without the heat of his touch. Hermione scolded herself for getting so intimate with him in such a precarious setting.

"Why the hell are you here?" He demanded as she rolled off of him. He sat up in his bed, throwing aside the damp, tangled mess of sheets. She stood off to the side of the four-poster bed, crossing her arms over her chest and feeling suddenly very exposed as his eyes followed her every movement.

"You were screaming," she snapped back. "It was pretty hard to ignore." His expression remained blank, but his shoulders tensed, and Hermione couldn't help but let her eyes wander over his extremely attractive physique. "Woke me up," she lied effortlessly. "Interrupted my beauty sleep."

A smile broke out over his face, and his shoulders relaxed as he coughed through several laughs, attempting to hide them. "Like you need that anyway," he murmured. Her heart thudded loudly and traitorously in her chest. He arched at single platinum brow at her, "You don't seem too shook up."

"No," she admitted. "I've had experience with this sort of thing before."

"Brother?" He guessed. She shook her head. "Father?" No, she'd been lucky enough not to have to send her father off to war, unlike most others. Technically, she was supposed to be Penelope Clearwater at the moment, but luckily, she couldn't recall anything about her experience with shell shock anywhere in the file and thus took it upon herself to curate a history herself. "Then, who?" He pressed.

Hermione glanced at her bare feet, then back at him, reveling in the charming and carefree version of Draco Malfoy before her. "Ex," she lied. Noticing that she wasn't planning on elaborating any further, and somehow refraining from pushing for anymore, he simply nodded.

He shifted on the bed, then stood and gestured toward the half-open door. "Let me walk you back to your room." Hermione bit her lip but turned toward the door without another word. As it was, he hadn't been asking. It was one of the many things she imagined Draco Malfoy didn't do.

Ask permission. Check the price. Obey the law.

"I find you extraordinarily puzzling, you know." He told her, giving her a slight smirk as they turned into the corridor.

"Oh?" She challenged, hoping he would grant her an explanation. He did.

"Yes," Draco continued. "You were the image of prim and proper when Theo and I stopped by the side of the road to help you, but then you didn't hesitate to get your hands dirty and sink a blade into that pathetic weasel's ribcage." He paused to spare her another glance. This time, she pointedly kept her face forward, giving him nothing. "You didn't react at all when we brought you here, in fact you hardly said a word the whole evening, but the minute I had the gun pressed to your head you gave me that which I most desired."

Again, she didn't meet his eye.

"How peculiar," he noted, mostly to himself.

"You did say I was puzzling," she finally said.

He let out a low chuckle, "That I did, Penny, that I did. Courageous, but also cowardice. Brilliant, yet remarkably stupid."

Hermione recoiled at his commentary, unable to feign disinterest any longer. She spun to face him, stopping before her bedroom door, and practically shrieked, "Stupid?"

The hint of a smirk twitched at his mouth, taunting her. "I did have a gun to your head," he stated. "If I were you, I wouldn't have waited so long to prove myself useful." She opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it, resolving not to let him get the better of her again. Cunning, beautiful bastard. "Don't take it personally," he went on, now wearing a full look of smuggery.

"I find that hard to abide by," she remarked between gritted teeth.

He merely shrugged. "It wasn't meant to be offensive. I told you I find you extraordinary, albeit mostly in a perplexing manner, and your idiot bravery has quite a lot to do with that." He leaned in closer, adding in a whisper, "It can't be helped, I'm afraid. By either of us."

There it was.

The gleam in his eyes had returned, and the familiar gleam haunted her as much as it excited her. It drove her mad with fear and longing all at once. Hermione couldn't look away.

Suddenly, his arms were around her, holding her against him and tilting her chin up so that her next breath was lost in his. Hermione no longer had to wonder if his lips were as soft as they looked, now she _knew_. There were not gentle, either. Though, she supposed, Draco Malfoy wasn't the type of person to stand around and wait for something to fall into his lap. He was the type of person to take what he felt belonged to him – what he felt was _owed_ to him – and in that moment it happened to be her.

He shoved her back against the wall with little effort, knocking the wind out of her. His teeth tugged at her bottom lip mercilessly, then rolled it between them and sucking on it. She melted beneath his touch. Her hands buried themselves in his fine hair, tugging lightly at the longer strands that fell onto his forehead. In return, he yanked her own wild curls. Hard.

Her tongue flicked against his bottom lip, exploring, and he opened his mouth to welcome her willingly. Then, his hand snaked around her neck and applied _just_ enough pressure to make her gasp for air against his lips. His hips flushed against hers, keeping her firmly in place, pressed harshly against the wall.

Draco pulled away from her in one swift movement, muttered "Goodnight, Pen," and then aimed himself down the corridor and disappeared in a flash of silver. Hermione leaned against the wall, one hand resting on her rapidly rising chest, and tried to catch her breath.

"Goodnight, Draco," she murmured under her breath even though he had been long gone. Reluctantly and half-dazed she returned to her bed and buried herself under the covers, her body still reeling from the kiss. Everything under the sun plagued her, and she felt herself get lost in the labyrinth of her mind until the early hours of the morning. Of the many concerns she had going forward, however, only two truly troubled her.

Would Hermione somehow be able to save Draco's soul and guide him toward the light?

Or…

Would she fall from grace and end up beside him on his throne in the pits of hell?

* * *

**A/N - **Ahh, I had a ridiculously good time writing this one. Also, I would love if you could all take a moment of silence after reading this in honour of Remembrance Day. Thank you xx

_[Edit, 18th November: This one-shot has now been continued into a full WIP and can be found on my page as The Art of Betrayal. Thank you to everyone who pushed me to continue this story!]_


	12. Diary of a Bewildered Witch

_**Diary of a Bewildered Witch**_

_Rating: _M for language, sex

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottpott (Theo x Harry)

_Summary: _Hermione Granger is pregnant. Godric help us all.

**A/N - **This is mostly irreverent and has very little (if any) plot but I hope you enjoy it and laugh nonetheless. I feel like I should mention it was brought on by a couple of gin and tonics? Anyway...

* * *

WEEK 1

* * *

Hm… did I renew the contraceptive charms?

?

Yeahhhh I'm sure I did.

* * *

WEEK 4

* * *

Oh, _fuck._

I did not.

* * *

WEEK 5

* * *

Oh, yeah… Definitely positive.

Fuckfuckfuck.

Ok, breathe, Hermione. Breathe. You're the brightest witch of your fucking generation or some shit unintelligent people keep telling you. You can do this! You can raise a child!

Right?

Oh, shit. Baby daddy's home.

Suppose he should probably know about this little blip. It's his fault anyway. Alright, just act natural. Smile and wave, girl, smile and wave. What does he _mean_ I'm never this receptive and accommodating when he gets home from work? How rude! MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE I WORK A FULL-TIME JOB TOO, EVER THINK OF THAT? I'M TIRED, MALFOY!

NO, I HAVE NO IDEA WHY I'M STILL YELLING EITHER.

NO, I'M _NOT _MAD… Ok, well _now_ I am. But you started this!

STOP YELLING AT ME OK!?

Great… Now I'm crying. Look what you did.

Yes, I know I'm being emotional you prat! IT'S BECAUSE I'M BLOODY PREGNANT. There. Said it. Nailed it. I should win an award for this… Baby Mama of the Year? Why, I'm _honored_.

Oof.

He still hasn't said anything. Hmm… still breathing? Yep, check. Oh, oh wait. Ok, he's blinking! I repeat, he's blinking! Ladies and gentlemen, we have retinal response.

Talking.

Oh, boy. Better be good things. Hmmm bit of a bumpy start there, Malfoy. Omg wait. This is actually turning out to be super sweet. SO MANY GOOD THINGS.

Fuck, I'm crying again.

* * *

WEEK 6

* * *

Ewwww so much vomit. All the bloody time. This little shit better be cute because it's ruining my hair.

Don't.

Don't even _think_ about saying what I think you're going to say, Malfoy.

Too late – you fucking said it. You know what? Fuck you. WELL, SORRY WE AREN'T ALL BLESSED WITH HAIR LIKE YOURS! Yeah, well maybe I _wanted_ it to have your hair!

You want it to have _my _monstrous curls?

DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT NOW I'M CRYING AGAIN. Yes, I want you to fucking hold me and – Oh… Hold that thought, I have to be sick again.

* * *

WEEK 7

* * *

Did you know, it's the size of a grape?

How fucking adorable.

I love it already – though I should probably stop saying it. Malfoy says that's not very nice. Then again, what the fuck does he know? Sorry, baby blip, you're an it until we find out what genitalia I'm forming here.

* * *

WEEK 9

* * *

A FUCKING STRAWBERRY!

* * *

WEEK 11

* * *

Oh god… I just realized. It's a baby. Like a real live fucking baby.

What if I'm not ready for this? What I'm not ready to be a mum! WHAT IF WE AREN'T READY FOR THIS MALFOY DID THAT EVER OCCUR TO YOU? HUH? Oh, hey, don't forget to pick up some peanut butter for me, ok? Thanks, love ya.

WAIT DON'T GO YET I'M NOT DONE FREAKING OUT!

Don't tell me, "Calm down, love," or "Everything will be fine, love," or "I'm sure, love," JUST STOP WITH THE LOVE. How can you be so sure, hm? Yes, I love you, too. Obviously. Fuck. No – I just meant – Malfoy, you're not _listening_ – WHAT DID I JUST SAY.

Ok, fine I'll go take a nap.

Don't forget the peanut butter.

WELL I WAS JUST MAKING SURE YOU HEARD ME SINCE YOU SEEM TO SUFFER FROM SELECTIVE HEARING. FUCK ME. No, not right now… unless? No, you're right. You'll be late.

* * *

WEEK 12

* * *

How inconvenient.

Fuck you, Harry.

Fuck you, too, Theo.

Yes, Malfoy, I _know_ I should be happy for them and deep, deep down I am. Yes, I _know_ they've been waiting years for the Marriage Act to pass. It's bloody fucking brilliant, but that's beside the point!

How am I expected to go through an entire wedding without giving anything away, hm?

FUCK NO WE CAN'T TELL THEM ARE YOU INSANE!?

Well, call me crazy but I would like to ensure I'm growing a fine specimen with a beating heart before I go around owling everyone that we ever fucking met that we're expecting. Oh – and our parents. Oh, yes. HAHAHAHAHAHA you're so funny! Oh no. No no no no no. _Fuck_ no.

_You're_ telling your mother. Fuck yeah, I'm going to be there! I cannot _wait_ to see her reaction, are you kidding me? I'm going to bring popcorn – Ooh wait – Fizzing whizbees. Godric, those are so addicting.

Ok, you're right back to the wedding problem. Well, I can't drink, for starters. Unless you want our little blip to come out a little blop. No, I have no idea, but just assume for the sake of the argument it means something derogatory. No drinking champagne, or butter beer, or ANYTHING at my best friend's wedding.

Merlin, Malfoy. Yes, I _know_ it's also your best friend's wedding.

Fine, then you can't drink either! Shit, I didn't expect you to give in to that so easily. What happened to my firewhiskey-before-bed man? Where did he go? Actually… he can take a break. Go on holiday. I wouldn't mind suffering through the next – what, six? Fuck, six – months of sobriety with a buddy.

Oh, yeah, no cold cuts either.

I DON'T BLOODY KNOW I DON'T MAKE THE RULES.

YOU_ KNOW_ I CAN'T HELP BUT YELL WHEN YOU SAY STUPID THINGS – FOR FUCK'S SAKE MALFOY STOP YELLING BACK BEFORE I – NO I CAN'T WEAR THAT ANYMORE IT MAKES ME LOOK FAT – WHAT? YES, IT DOES! – OH, SOD OFF! – GREAT, NOW I'M CRYING _AND_ SCREAMING, HAPPY?!

Fuck you.

No, wait. Come back. Yes. Kisses. Loads of kisses.

Ugh.

Much better. _Much_ better.

Fuck, you're still making me go. ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT I'M GOING.

This is exhausting and it hasn't even _started_ yet. No, not the little blip. The bloody wedding. JUST GET ON WITH IT ALREADY IT'S JUST A BLOODY PIECE OF PAPER IT MEANS ALMOST NOTHING. Shut up, Malfoy. Yes, I _am_ a romantic. Well, I said almost, didn't I?

Anyway, as I was saying.

Little blip is doing pretty good. I did some light research and apparently, it's been quite busy the past few weeks! Growing all kinds of cute little things. Now it's got some organs, muscles, bones, and even limbs. Tiny little arms and legs! Ok, so maybe it doesn't _look_ like it has those. But still.

I'm impressed, little blip. Go you.

Clearly, you get your work ethic from your mother. Oh – You heard me, Malfoy. Yeah, yeah, you love me. OH, THEY FINALLY KISSED! Fuck yeah, time to party!

Balls.

You're right.

This is lame. I want to go home.

* * *

WEEK 13

* * *

WE FINALLY TOLD PEOPLE!

The little shit is perfectly healthy and completely normal in reaching all of its milestones (side note: perhaps, it takes after _Dad's_ work ethic – I said what I said, Malfoy). Wow, and everyone reacted pretty well, too!

Mum and Dad were shocked.

Narcissa didn't freak out like I'd hoped, which was actually a bit of a bummer. I even remembered to bring the sweets for the show.

Harry, Theo, and all the other miscreants we call our friends were actually annoyingly right in that they said they _knew_ I was pregnant. At first, I wanted to be offended because that had to be a slight to my bump, right? Like what if I wasn't pregnant – how very dare they? But I was, so… Couldn't be offended by that.

Turns out – shocker – they figured it out after I didn't drink _anything_ at the wedding. Ron also quite bluntly commented on my breasts which would've been awkward if he wasn't so _him _about it. Idiot.

Other than that, I feel great! SO MUCH MORE ENERGIZED THAN BEFORE!

Oh, oh, and guess what? NO. MORE. SICKNESS.

Fuck yeaaaaaaaah!

* * *

WEEK 14

* * *

A FUCKING KIWI!

* * *

WEEK 16

* * *

A FUCKING LEMON!

Speaking of lemons, Baby Mama has been _getting it._

Thank fuck for this flow of hormones. Honestly, I can put up with the constant crying if it means I get to constantly feel horny and wet all the bloody time. This is fucking fantastic.

* * *

WEEK 19

* * *

Am I waddling? I feel like I'm waddling… but with swagger.

* * *

WEEK 21

* * *

HALFWAY THERE!

HALFWAY THERE!

Apparently, even though its little ears formed a while ago, it can start to hear now. How exciting! That's right, Malfoy, watch how you talk to me because little blip can hear everything. DON'T FUCKING TOUCH THAT.

Oops.

_Hush little baby, don't you cry_

_Mummy's going to sing you a lullaby_

_Hush little baby, don't say a word_

_Daddy's going to buy you something absurd_

_And most likely it will be something_

_Gold and small with two little wings_

_And if that gift he buys flies away_

_Well, that's a game that two can play_

_Hush little baby, don't scream and shout_

_Mummy and Daddy will always be about_

Oh, look. Daddy's crying like a fucking prissy. I swear if you get that from him and go running around school telling everyone "My father will hear about this!" I will disown you. Ok, I won't. But don't do it, ok? Deal?

I'm going to pretend you agreed with me, little blip.

Hmm now I have a headache from all that singing. Not that I didn't love it, of course… but next time it's Daddy's turn to make up silly little rhymes.

* * *

WEEK 23

* * *

A LARGE FUCKING MANGO!

* * *

WEEK 24

* * *

Shit, this is exhausting.

Merlin, it's hot as _balls_ outside. Thank fuck I'm not giving birth to a Gemini. Like the world needs any more of those. No summer babies here, no ma'am! Speaking of summer babies, where is my soft summer prince with my ice cream?

He's been very stressed lately, must be from work or something. Can't be me. Yeah, yeah, I know I should be more sympathetic towards him, but come on – it's not like _he's _the one who is busying growing a brain or something (though maybe he _is_… that would certainly explain a lot. I know, harsh, but such is life).

I'M MELTING FUCK LITTLE BLIP IS MELTING WHERE IS – Oh. There he is. Fucking finally.

What is this?

This isn't Rocky Road. _Mint chocolate chip?_ What, am I a masochist now, Malfoy? Is that it? Why on earth would I – DON'T YOU DARE SPOON THAT MONSTROSITY INTO MY – AH. Hmm… I don't want to admit but. He's quite right. This is excellent. Really fucking excellent. Yes, one more spoonful please Baby Daddy! KEEP 'EM COMING HOME BOY. No, it's meant to be endearing. Oh, for the love of – Ugh, yummmmm.

Fuck, my cheeks are wet. Why are they wet?

Is it raining? Nope. Am I sweating? Profusely, but not there.

Oh, fuck is it because I'm bloody crying again? Over mint chip ice cream, really little blip? Ugh. How pathetic. Don't look at me like that, Malfoy – Yes,I _know_ I'm being emotional. IT'S BECAUSE I HAVE A FUCK-TON OF HORMONES RIGHT NOW SOD OFF OK?

NO. NO, I DON'T WANT YOUR STUPID HANDKERCHIEF.

Why are you wearing a suit? _How_ are you wearing a suit? In this weather, fucking hell.

Get that away from – Wait, is it _embroidered_? With your initials? Seriously, I can get this all gross with my endless tears and mucus? You really don't mind? Oh, fuck. WELL NOW I'M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO STOP CRYING THANKS A LOT MALFOY.

I love him so much.

I mean I still kind of want to kill him, but I suppose I can forgive him, I mean… mint choco chip? _Who knew?_

* * *

WEEK 25

* * *

FOR THE ACTUAL SAKE OF FUCK TURN THAT RUBBISH OFF IT'S DISTURBING THE BABY!

Well, I don't _care_ if you read in some snobby aristocratic article that classical music is good for the baby's brain development, Malfoy! Little blip here doesn't like it. It kicks and kicks and _kicks_. Do you know what that's like, hm? DO YOU?

No.

Didn't fucking think so.

FUCK I HAVE TO PEE AGAIN.

Yes, play something from the baby playlist I made. It responds well to those songs. Over on the dresser somewhere – Fuck, I don't know where – Oh, wait. I was sitting on it. Ok, I got it.

Listen, I told you, I don't make the rules! If baby wants to listen to shoddy American rap, then baby gets to listen to shoddy American rap. Yeah, of course, I selected the clean versions. What kind of mother do you think I am? Oh, fuck. Missed that one. Oh, no, didn't miss it. Did that on purpose – because I couldn't find a clean version, that's why! It's little blip's favorite so, what do you want me to do, _hm_?

Ugh, my back hurts.

Maaaaaaalfoyyyyyyy. Honeyyyyyyyyyy. Babyyyyyyyyy.

Oh, yeah. Right there. Wonderful. Brilliant. You are the best. I love you. OUCH, FUCK. I HATE YOU. Would you stop crying? No, I'm sorry! Look, it didn't really hurt that bad. Malfoy. Malfoy. _Malfoy._ I'm fine, will you stop? Yes, I know you didn't mean to and – Yes, of course, I still love you, you idiot – STOP. CRYING.

Great. Now, we're both blubbering fools.

We blame you little blip. I mean, we totally love you and all, of course, but we also blame you. You understand, right?

* * *

WEEK 26

* * *

Godric, why is everyone so bloody irritating?

So, what if I'm going to work nearly seven months pregnant? No, I don't want to be here either, but someone has to! Because you are all incompetent, that's why.

Listen, Shacklebolt.

I'm _just_ saying – Well, if you had done it _my_ way then – No, I don't need you to call Malfoy. I AM BEING PERFECTLY REASONABLE. NO, I WILL NOT CALM DOWN. WHEN HAS SAYING THAT TO A WOMAN EVER BEEN A GOOD THING, HM? ME BEING PREGNANT AS FUCK HAS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH – Fuck, you just _had_ to do it, didn't you? Now, look what you've done.

Telling on me to my Baby Daddy, really?

Shame on you, Shacklebolt. Shame.

* * *

WEEK 27

* * *

A CAULIFLOWER!

No, I don't want that for dinner, I was just – You know what? Never mind.

* * *

WEEK 28

* * *

Remember when I said I was energized? _HA_.

Little blip decided that wasn't going to last long apparently, because here I am: waddling around this bloody house with one eye open. I was _so_ looking forward to watching the documentaries I taped over the weekend but alas, it's not going to happen.

Sleep, sleep, sleep.

Then, of course, when _I_ want to try and sleep, little blip wants to jump and play and kick, kick, kick. HOW MUCH BLOODY LONGER? GET THIS FUCKING THING OUT OF ME – I love you – _GET IT OUT, NOW!_

I still love you, little blip, I do. I swear. No really. But also, can you fucking not? For one night, _please_? Is that too much to ask? I'm trying to grow you, you know. Sleep would be ideal for that sort of exhausting 24/7 job. Just saying.

At least Malfoy is taking his doting father-to-be roles quite seriously. It's really very adorable and makes me love him soooooooo much.

I mean, for starters, him decorating the baby's nursery?

_HOT._

Like… I needed a long, cold shower after he refused to go down on me on the floor of the nursery. I can't say I don't see his point but, still. A woman has needs. It's not like little blip would really care _where_ Mummy gets her socks of, right?

I'm going to pretend that it agrees with me.

I tried to help with the nursery. Apparently, I was being extra bossy. Rude. Though, he _was_ on to something with the color scheme and theme choice for the room. I can't say I'm not impressed. A bit put-out, but whatever. That just means I'll be able to guilt him into a foot rub or two before bed.

OMG WILL YOU _DESIST_ WITH THE RESTLESSNESS, LITTLE BLIP? MUMMY NEEDS HER BEAUTY SLEEP.

No, Malfoy, I do _not_ need you to sing to it again. No one needs that – Yes, honey, you were very cute. Very fatherly. That's not the point. Well, if you must know, the point is that you are bloody tone deaf.

Hey.

You asked for it.

OH, DON'T YOU DARE POUT AT ME. COME HERE. LET ME HOLD YOU.

It's almost as if he doesn't know how much he means to me? Fucking moron.

* * *

WEEK 30

* * *

THIRD TRIMESTER BITCHES!

Godric, I miss drinking. I could use a bloody tall glass of wine right about now. Yesterday I tried to sneak one, but then Malfoy just turned it into water. Balls.

The little blip is able to wee on its own now which is bloody brilliant because it means I have to go TWICE as much now. Sigh. It's a wonder I'm not severely dehydrated. Must be from all the water Malfoy is shoving down my throat. Someone – cough, Theo (I will find him. And I will kill him.) – let him get his hands on a maternity book.

Fuck me.

As if I didn't already suffer enough. NOW I HAVE HIM BLOODY NANNY-ING ME ALL THE DAMN TIME. I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF AND LITTLE BLIP JUST FINE THANKYOUVERYMUCH.

Anyway… Other than that daily annoyance things have been going quite smooth lately. Well, pregnancy-wise I mean. Other stuff, less so. I'm not too thrilled about all the bloody gawking I'm getting when I dare to leave the house. Funnily enough, I'm not too fond of being in the spotlight. Don't even get me started on Rita Fucking Nosy-as-tits Skeeter. LIKE BITCH I KNOW MY HAIR LOOKS ATROCIOUS TODAY AND MY CARDIGAN IS WORN AND HAS HOLES. IT'S _COMFY_. I'M _PREGNANT_. LIFE IS A TEENY BIT EXHAUSTING AT THE MOMENT AND FRANKLY I DON'T GIVE A DAMN WHAT I LOOK LIKE SO _THERE_.

She and I don't get along well… still.

I can't wait to raise little blip to give her hell, too. We can bond over it. How fucking adorable is that? Goals amiright?

* * *

WEEK 33

* * *

A PINEAPPLE! EEP!

* * *

WEEK 36

* * *

ONE MORE _BLOODY_ MONTH HOLY BALLS THIS TAKES FOREVER.

Note to self: if ever pregnant again, immediately invest in approximately one-hundred new novels, headphones for when Malfoy snores, and an ample amount of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

OH – and tissues, _loads_ of tissues.

This little fucker is quite the kicker. I love you. I do. I swear. BUT FUCK ME, OUCH! Malfoyyyyyyyyy. Yes, the cream. Can you rub it _and_ sing this time? Ugh, you're the fucking best. Love you. So, so much. Do you think it'll be a football star? – Well, it's got the boot – it doesn't _have_ to play Quidditch! What if it wants to do something else, hm?

NO, YOU CAN'T FORCE IT TO PLAY.

Absolutely not. You're not buying a broom for it until it's old enough to charm itself right when it inevitably inherits my poor flying skills. Well, I don't _want_ it to, but it's probably likely.

Hmm… Then again it _would_ be adorable as fuck to see you two riding around playing your little games with the snitch. I said what I said, Malfoy. YES, THEY ARE BLOODY LITTLE GAMES. Brutal, positively, brutal, but still.

THAT IS EXACTLY WHY IT WON'T BE PLAYING! YOU ADMIT IT! SO DANGEROUS, I _TOLD _YOU!

WAIT – Yes, put your hand here. What? No, I'm not going to hurt you. It's not a trick, Malfoy, fucking hell. Will you just – No, _there._ – I told you! See? It likes you. Or maybe it doesn't? Interpret the increased amount of kicking as you will, love.

* * *

WEEK 39

* * *

Ew.

I'm _showing_ now.

If you have never heard of that phrase, _please_ do not look it up. I warned you. I'm just saying. Aside from that fun little development, everything is great. I'm fine. Everything's fine.

Not.

But still, it's almost fucking over, so… thank Godric for that.

Still love you little blip. I do. I swear.

But also, fuck you. I want my autonomy back thanks. Hugs and kisses. Love, Mum.

* * *

WEEK 40

* * *

A FULL-GROWN BABY!

Any minute now…

Any minute.

* * *

WEEK 41

* * *

GET THIS BLASTED THING OUT OF ME OR SO HELP ME I WILL BURN THIS HOSPITAL TO THE GROUND! AND YOU AND _YOU_ AND OHHHH, YES, HEALER, DEFINITELY YOU! I BET YOU WISHED YOU HAD PRESCRIBED ME THOSE MEDS NOW, DIDN'T YOU?

I am so bloated it hurts.

Labor sucks. Everything sucks. I want this to be over with. How much BLOODY FUCKING LONGER?!

Well, _of course_ I'm crying, Malfoy! I AM EMOTIONAL AND I AM UNCOMFORTABLE AND THOSE TWO THINGS EQUAL TEARS AND HYSTERICS. Sorry, I don't make the rules.

Oh, fuck here it comes.

Little blip is about to make its grand entrance and – AHHHHH – Oof, ok. Breathe. Breathe. – AHHHHHHH – Oh, my god when does it end? Fuckfuckfuck – MALFOY I SWEAR IF YOU DON'T GIVE ME YOUR HAND TO SQUEEZE THEN I'M GOING TO GRAB SOMETHING ELSE AND YOU _DEFINITELY_ WON'T LIKE THA – AHHHHHHHHH _FUCKKKKKKKK_!

Omg.

Omg it's done.

It's over.

Little blip is here! Albeit a bit slimy and not at all tempting to hold at the moment but – Oh, fuck. There are those pesky motherly hormones kicking in. – Yep, give it here. Little fucker.

Oh, it's actually so cute.

Omg now I can't stop crying again. Malfoy look! We did a thing! WE DID THIS BEAUTIFUL WONDERFUL THING! Fuck, I'm exhausted. Here, you hold it. What do you mean you don't want to hold it, yet? IT'S YOUR FUCKING BABY, MALFOY, RIDDLE ME THAT – Oh. What? What is that?

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?

IT'S THE SIZE OF _NEW ZEALAND_.

You want to marry me? _You_ want to marry _me?_ Omg… Omgomgomg. Fuck. Yes. FUCK, OF COURSE I WILL, YOU IDIOT! I love youuuuuu, omg. I love you so much and I can't stop crying and holy fuck this is the happiest day of my life.

Oh, yeah, right. Sorry, here. Fuck, little blip is so cute in your hands. Ugh, when it wraps its entire fucking _hand_ around your stupid finger? I cry. I die. I'm dead. This is the best ever.

Hmmm, you're right I should probably stop saying "Little blip" and "it".

Oh, well.

Welcome home, little baby.

Love, Mum and Dad.

(But mostly Mum, _winkwink_)

* * *

THE END


	13. The Malfoy Theory

_**The Malfoy Theory**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottpott (Theo x Harry)

_Summary: _Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger have been at each other's throats for the entirety of their professional career. This is to be expected – They are rivals in mixed doubles. Yet, what the rest of the world doesn't know, is that their argumentativeness extended to the bedroom as well. Sporty Muggle AU.

**A/N – **Welcome to a niche sport AU! There may or may not be more to come down the line because I find them particularly fun and intriguing to write. Though for now… Tennis.

**[Edit: **The prequel for this one-shot has now been posted as _The Wimbledon Experiment _(Chapter 40). Enjoy!**] **

* * *

Mixed Doubles:

Round of 16

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita: **"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to BBC Sports and thank you for tuning into our broadcast of the London 2012 Olympics, hosted by myself, Rita Skeeter, and my co-host, Gilderoy Lockhart. Speaking of hosting, it's such an honor to be the host country of such an amazing sporting competition, isn't it Gilderoy?"

**Gilderoy: **"You live here? Marvelous!"

**Rita: **"Oh, Gilderoy. Always the jokester. This year's Olympics should be especially interesting considering most of the athletes have quite the reputation. My favorite so far has been Barty Crouch Jr. who set the new British WR for the 100m and 200m sprints."

**Gilderoy: **"Shocking!"

**Rita:**"Oh, very. It even took his father, Barty Crouch Sr. by surprise, which was doubly entertaining in that the record was previously held by _him_. Quite the flair for dramatics, that family, hm? Anyway, here comes our very own Malfoy and Parkinson, representing Britain in the mixed doubles portion of the tennis competitions, ready to take on Bulgaria in the first round of elimination."

**Gilderoy: **"Goodbye!"

**Rita: **"I don't know about that, Gilderoy! Parkinson is fresh from success in the women's singles and looks hungry for another gold medal. I wager that Bulgaria has quite the challenge ahead of them today. Just look at that game-face Malfoy is sporting."

**Gilderoy: **"Who?"

**Rita: **"Hilarious. _Everyone_ in Britain knows who Draco Malfoy is, even if they've never watched a tennis match in their life! I suppose that may have something to do with the endless magazine coverage of him being pitted against the young American. Do you think there's any truth to the exploits?"

**Gilderoy: **"The truth will always come out eventually!"

**Rita: **"That's quite… sound, actually. Well, if that's the case, then I sincerely hope whomever spurred those allegations of a turbulent romantic history causing their hostility towards one another did so under false pretenses. We all know the rule against athlete relations and how unforgiving the board can be with such things."

* * *

Granger stood on the opposite end of the athlete's lounge from him. She was with her teammate, her coaches, and the rest of the bandwagon that prepared her for every and any sporting event. Likewise, so was he.

"Draco," Pansy snapped, bringing his attention back to his own team. Based on her exasperated sigh and pointed hand on her hip, he presumed that she'd been calling his name for quite some time. "Would you, for the love of god, stop staring at that boorish girl? If you keep it up people are really going to think you two had some kind of secret affair and falling out."

He shot her a glare, absent-mindedly plucking at the mesh of his racket. He was unfortunately notorious for getting tennis elbow and was constantly messing with his strings to make sure there wasn't too much (or also, too little, though that didn't result in injury for him) tension. "None of that's true."

"Listen, I don't care." She whacked her racket against the bottom of her shoe. "I really don't, and I don't mean that to be offensive." Pansy hesitated, eying their coaches as they slunk off in search for some free food. Then, she continued in a hushed tone. "Whatever you want to do off the court, that's your business. I'm hardly incompetent, Draco, I know what's going on between you two. As long as it stays off the court, I don't care. If it in _any way_ interferes with us getting gold, then I'm warning you," – she tossed a ball up in the air and sent it flying across the room toward a practice wall – "Those won't be the only balls this racket comes into contact with. Are we clear?"

Draco didn't blink, "Crystal."

"Good," she immediately brightened up, putting on her debutant demeanor. "Then, let's go out there and have a good match! It's a beautiful day to be alive!"

She twirled away, the brilliant white of her flawless Nike dress flashing behind his eyes, and practically skipped out onto the court with both hands waving at the crowd the instant she was visible to them.

Draco cast a weary glance over his shoulder where Granger sat on one of the tables, talking animatedly with her teammate while he tied her shoelaces, and noticed that when she hopped down one of the pleats of her skirt had failed to adhere to gravity. He could see the perfect sculpture of her hamstring – always visible thanks to the shortness of tennis skirts – curving into her glutes; the normally-covered spandex shorts underneath the skirt now exposed, giving him a wonderful view.

He quickly adjusted his own shorts and tried to think about anything else besides digging his fingers into her bum and hoisting her up onto his hips all the while never letting go. Draco splashed some cold water across his face, then schooled it into a stoic expression and followed Pansy out onto the court for their first match of the 2012 Olympics.

* * *

Mixed Doubles:

Round of 16

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee: **"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome, welcome! Thanks for being here and tuning into NBC for your coverage of the 2012 Olympics, hosted in London, England this year! How exciting! I am your host, Lee Jordan, and this is my co-host, Luna Lovegood. Luna, how are you feeling this morning?"

**Luna: **"Quibbler!"

**Lee: **"Well, I must say that's a fine pair of rose-colored glasses you're wearing! We all could use a pair, in my opinion. Anyway, it's been a fantastic summer for our athletes and for America so far, hasn't it?"

**Luna: **"Can Hippogriff's fly?"

**Lee: **"I would say that's debatable seeing as they're most definitely mythological! You know what is not debatable, folks? The absolute _domination_ we are seeing among the American athlete's this year. With a grand total of 16 medals so far, 12 of which are gold may I add, the most notable among belonging to Cedric Diggory who took home gold in not one, not two, but _five_ events for Men's Swim. Outstanding! He must be part shark for dethroning previous champion, Viktor Krum of Bulgaria."

**Luna: **"No, but Krum certainly was!"

**Lee: **"You are truly comedic, Luna, did you know that?"

**Luna: **"Wisdom, cleverness and wit!"

**Lee: **"Sure, sure. Those too. But let's focus on today's event! Coming onto the court now we have Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. A match made in Heaven I'd say!"

**Luna: **"OTP!"

**Lee: **"No, no. That can't be right. Nonetheless, we do have a truly _gifted_ team representing America this year. Firstly, our beloved Harry Potter. The Chosen One as his fans like to call him! And do you know why, Luna?"

**Luna: **"He defeated the Dark Lord!"

**Lee: **"If by 'Dark Lord' you mean 'Tom Riddle' then that's absolutely correct! Potter, just before his eighteenth birthday he managed to overthrow the previous American favorite in a _love game_ no less. This qualified him for not only a spot in the 2012 Olympics, but also a coveted position with his teammate. Tell us about, Hermione Granger, Luna?"

**Luna: **"The brightest witch of her age!"

**Lee: **"Phew! I do hope you weren't trying to make a slight at America's princess there! She _is_ clever though, folks, there's certainly no doubt about it. Granger has managed to achieve what few athletes in tennis have ever achieved, and at such a young age too! Remarkable! For those of you who don't know, Granger succeeded in a Grand Slam. This means that she won the Australian Open, French Open, U.S. Open, and Wimbledon in a single calendar year, and now she's here at the Olympics! What a wonderful start to her career!"

**Luna: **"Gulping Plimpies!"

* * *

Hermione knocked twice on the physical training room and slid inside quickly when it opened. She immediately dropped her gym bag on the pretenses of maintaining her cover and then turned to eye the smug blond leaning perfunctorily against the counter.

His hair was swept back except for one stray piece that curled against his forehead. She pondered if its existence was a slight miscalculation of his normally painstaking precision in his outward appearance – as denoted by his casual but smart attire that highlighted his toned musculature – or if it was instead purposefully left to create an air of effortlessness in his demeanor – which she thought was marginally more plausible.

"Granger," he greeted, twisting his lips into a smirk.

"Malfoy," she replied as she kicked off her white training shoes and padded over to lock the door. "I saw your match today. Dolohov nearly had you there in the second set."

He unfolded his arms to lift his dry-fit shirt over his shoulders and tossed it to the side. "Hardly. His swing had little more dexterity than that of a toddler learning to color in between the lines, for one thing." He untied the drawstring of his grey shorts and moved to push them down past his hips but stopped abruptly to cross the room and help her with her dress.

She was still wearing the same white form-fitting dress she'd played in that afternoon. "Sorry, didn't have time to shower yet." She supplied. "I had to go to _actual_ physical therapy after the match and only just got out."

His hands closed around the light material with his eyes flicking briefly over the star-spangled patterns of her sports bra visible through the translucent material. He didn't hesitate to rid her of that either.

"You need to work on your footing," she noted, stepping out of her spandex shorts. From the sparkling glint in his grey eyes, she suspected Malfoy liked the fact that she hadn't worn any knickers underneath them.

He tugged her toward him, tipping her chin up to press a rough kiss to her lips. His tongue slid over her bottom lip, parting them, and then moved to trail a pattern along her jawline. "My footing is perfect, Granger. Though, if we're going to be exchanging tips, then I suggest you learn to reign Potter's eccentric swings in or otherwise learn to complement them better."

She sighed as his lips moved down her neck. His hands, dutiful and exploratory, were giving ample attention to her breasts and now heightened nipples. "Harry is impossible to control once he's given in to his chaotic impulses. If he wasn't so damned naturally talented, then I would have tried to find a different teammate a long time ago." She admitted, digging her nails into the hardened muscles of his back.

"There's got to be someone better than Potter," Malfoy remarked. He let out a soft grunt as he brusquely lifted her and deposited her onto the physio table. The cushions were scarcely soft, but they were at least better than the tiled floor.

"Listen, I know _you _don't think he's the Chosen One but - " She cut herself off as a gasp escaped her lips.

"You were saying?" He taunted. His fingers had been encircling her cunt and had finally slipped in. He adjusted his grip in order to press his pads against her g-spot and continued pleasuring her. Meanwhile, she trailed her hands down his torso and smiled against his lips as he let out a little hiss as her fingers tugged at the waistband of his shorts and pants.

Hermione slid her hand under the soft material and took hold of his cock, flicking her thumb over the top of it. She reveled in the immediate satisfactory response he gave, sinking his teeth into her bottom lip and pulling at it crudely. She liked it when he was rough with her. When he knew just how much to push her because he knew how strong she was, how much she could handle, and more importantly what she liked.

* * *

Mixed Doubles:

Quarterfinals

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita: **"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen! Our favorites played an excellent opening match yesterday and took the win. The first set was brilliant, with Parkinson all-but taking the victory on her own, and although the second set was a bit rockier, Malfoy did manage to swoop in and save the match."

**Gilderoy: **"I'll save the day!"

**Rita: **"Ambitious albeit unlikely, Gilderoy. However, there _is _a lot to be said about Malfoy and his relations with the American princess, Hermione Granger. There were rumors coming from the coach's tent that both had scheduled an extra session of physical therapy at the same time. Do you think it's possible that their mutual need for physical attention could be more than simply innocent and therapeutic in nature?"

**Gilderoy: **"She has an incredible physique."

**Rita: **"Yes, well she is an adequate athlete so it's only realistic that her… physique resembles such. Anyway, her and her teammate, the young mess of a boy with a haunted past, did also manage to win their first match so we aren't quite rid of them yet. Perhaps if we're lucky the alleged rumor revolving around Granger and Malfoy will resolve itself before the end of the Olympics."

**Gilderoy: **"Is that your _real _hair?"

**Rita: **"Don't touch me."

**Gilderoy: **"Who?"

**Rita: **"What my co-host is trying to say, or what I'm going to presume he should say, is that our lovely Parkinson and Malfoy have quite the odds in their favor to take home the gold. Parkinson is a force of nature and Malfoy is cunning. Together, they stand strong against many of the other teams in the competition. The only other team that has a chance, though in my professional opinion I would say it's still a slim one, at beating them is the Americans."

**Gilderoy: **"Splendid!"

**Rita: **"Is there anything of substance you would like to contribute to this broadcast, Gilderoy?"

**Gilderoy: **"My smile is _incredibly_ charming. In fact, it's scientifically proven to be the _most_ charming. Ever. In all of - "

**Rita: **"As I suspected. Well, ladies and gentlemen, it looks like our match is just about over as Parkinson dominated the Polish opponents in the first two sets, leaving Malfoy to work his usual magic in the last one. What a quick game, today. But of course, Great Britain is delighted with the fast, unquestionable victory."

**Gilderoy: **"We are the champions!"

**Rita: **"Not yet, Gilderoy."

**Gilderoy: **"Killer queen!"

**Rita: **"Please don't say that. It's highly unpatriotic and possibly even treasonous."

**Gilderoy: **"Find me somebody to love!"

**Rita: **"No."

**Gilderoy: **"Ooh, you're quite right. I _do_ love myself."

* * *

"Do you think that was enough to sway the papers?" Draco said the minute the door shut, and the lock clicked behind them. Her hands wound themselves around his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers. He inhaled the sweet scent of roses and gardenias that was so _her_.

"Oh, yes. I'm quite certain." She tugged at the collar of his shirt, then broke away from his arms in order to rid herself of her own polo, untucking it from her pleated skirt. "The comment about my hair was genius."

"You don't think it was a bit much?" He asked, searching for any sign of hidden animosity at his earlier commentary (from his general experience with women he knew it was best _not_ to presume they were not upset or angry despite their insistence to be otherwise; i.e. _I'm fine_ does not actually mean _I'm fine_).

She shimmied out of her skirt and the rest of her clothing, then spun to turn the showers on. "Well, yes, it was, but that's precisely the kind of thing those absurd magazines eat up. Besides, we have to smother those locker room rumors somehow."

Granger stepped into the scalding liquid and let out a heavy sigh. He stripped his clothing, tossing it onto the bench and stepping in after her, taking her in his arms and pressing her against the tile as he moved under the water.

It was boiling, but he shivered despite the heat as her lips found his and her hands ran through his wet hair. Draco knew that water was a terrible lubricant, so he made sure to take his time with the foreplay – though he always took his time – and thus dropped to his knees. The scalding water hit his sore shoulders which was rewarding for him, but doubly rewarding in shielding Granger from the water, effectively keeping her wet in other terms.

His tongue flicked over the lips of her cunt, then slipped in between them. He nudged her legs apart and lifted one so that it draped over his shoulder. She moaned. He quickened his pace. His fingers buried themselves in her, hooking to meet her clitoris and teasing it relentlessly while his mouth continued its work on her inner lips.

Draco tasted the sweet, salty victory of her orgasm and smiled into her thigh, nipping at the skin. He rose to his feet, swept the slick curls away from her face, and kissed her roughly as he dug his fingers into her hips. He was already hard, throbbing against her thigh.

She gasped as he lifted her. Draco lowered her onto him, hissing as he filled her. She felt so good; she always felt so damn good. The way she fit around him so perfectly was incredible, and from the moans she tried to bury in his neck, he knew she enjoyed the feel of him just as much. It was no wonder they couldn't keep their hands off of each other whenever they were in the same space, same competition.

The physical attraction and chemistry between them were impossible to resist.

* * *

Mixed Doubles:

Quarterfinals

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee: **"Welcome back folks to another glorious day at the 2012 Olympics! It was no surprise that Granger and Potter were able to succeed in their first round of the competition, but let's see how their match today goes, eh? We're hopeful it will go well, aren't we, Luna?"

**Luna: **"The tea leaves were promising!"

**Lee: **"How about that! Anyway, let's take a closer look at our beloved team, shall we? They've just stepped onto the court to face off the lovely Delacour and Macaron from France. They look determined and – Oh! There they go – Granger lines up to serve and – IT'S AN ACE – Beautiful serve, great point."

**Luna: **"Swish and flick!"

**Lee: **"I don't think that would be a formidable stroke, Luna, but... Oh, look at that! Potter took Delacour's backspin and _smashed _it! Into the crowd it goes. Macaron serves next but Granger sends it back in a return ace! Another point for our Americans! This is an extremely exciting match. I mean just look at Potter and Granger are sending the French running back and forth the court!"

**Luna: **"Fleur is a Veela!"

**Lee: **"She's very talented, yes. Quite unique. But unfortunately, her skill is no match for our Granger, and it looks like America takes the win this match. Wow! What a remarkable game. I can hardly wait to see how well they do the rest of the competition! It would be incredible if they were to go all the way to gold and dethrone the Brits, this Olympics, don't you think?"

**Luna: **"Whackspurts!"

**Lee: **"What she said! I'm not entirely sure what it means, folks, but she seems excited about it and therefore I am too! Thank you as always for tuning, in and until next time…"

**Luna: **"Always sleep with your shoes on!"

**Lee: **"Wait – What? Never mind. Have a good evening and see you next time when Granger and Potter advance to the semi-finals!"

* * *

Hermione lifted her leg up onto the bench and leaned forward to stretch out her tired muscles. They were aching from the vigorous matches as well as from sex with Malfoy. Though, she wasn't complaining. She enjoyed pushing her body to its limits and seeing just how much she could handle.

"Is it your calf again?" Malfoy asked.

They were in the gymnasts training room this time, though it had been abandoned as of yesterday when the little French girl (Hermione thought her name was Gabrielle, but she wasn't entirely sure since she knew both the Delacour sisters were Olympic athletes) took home the gold medal.

"Yes," she grimaced. He placed her leg in his lap and began massaging at her tight muscle. "You don't have to do that," she told him. He arched a single blond brow at her. "I'm thankful, of course, but I do have athletic trainers that were hired for this exact reason."

He shrugged, digging his knuckles into her. "Does it make you feel better? When I do this?" As he asked her the latter question, he rolled her muscle over his knee and worked out one of the knots in her gastrocnemius.

"Yes," she moaned, chewing on her lip and trying not to flush at his teasing smirk. It was bad enough that she was attracted to him, she hardly needed to be dependent on him. "Still." She went on. "I don't _need_ you to do this for me."

"I like doing it for you," he informed her.

Hermione bit back a whimper as he undid yet another knot. "Well, don't get too carried away. It doesn't change our arrangement. This is still purely physical. No strings."

Malfoy shifted her leg, returning to his gentle massage with his knuckles. "This is physical," he replied. When he successfully rid her calf of its tightness, he moved to her foot, bending the arch and rolling her ankle like her physio would. Much to her dismay, he was better at it. "Isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You know why your calf get all tight, don't you?" He asked her.

She nodded, "I'm very educated, Malfoy, I know exactly what causes tense muscles and subsequent pain." She had hoped that would be sufficient to shut him up on the subject. Her tone was final enough.

"It's your stance," Malfoy stated, then added, "When you serve."

"My stance is textbook." Hermione protested. She kicked her foot out of his grasp, stopping his massage and shifting to straddle him instead. "In fact, it's one of my strong suits. I happen to have an _extremely_ skilled serve, thank you very much."

"I'm not saying your serve isn't textbook or that it isn't effective." He replied, pulling at the straps of her sports bra and placing kisses along her exposed clavicle. "I'm simply pointing out that it is the origin of your pain. It's because of your hips," he said matter-of-factly. His mouth was hot against her skin, and his hands were flexed against her arse. "The stance was made to accommodate most men, with slender hips, and you need to adjust your pivot when you serve because of it."

"How do _you_ know that?" Her trainers and coaches hadn't even so much as suspected that her pivot was subsequently causing her calf to knot and tense.

"I like watching you play," he smirked.

She pressed her lips firmly together, a bit put-out that he was able to riddle her out so effortlessly. "Stalker, much?"

"You're my competition." He peeled the sports bra further down, exposing both of her breasts to his wanting mouth. "My rival." She bit back a sigh as his tongue flicked mercilessly over her nipple. His fingers dug into her backside, slipping under the material of her shorts and stretching the spandex. Her own nails leaving marks on his biceps. "Of course, I am watching you… and your every move."

The move that he was currently watching was her subconscious gyrating of her hips against his, creating a friction between their groins that built a pressure low in her abdomen. She would never admit as much out loud, but she enjoyed watching him, too. Hermione liked watching him play, but she also liked studying his movements in situations like this.

"Watch this, then," she smirked, taunting him.

In a single, swift movement she freed his pulsing cock from his pants, and in another motion slid her tiny shorts aside. Then she slid onto him with ease, and both of them let out a unanimous sigh of content.

* * *

Mixed Doubles:

Semi-Finals

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita: **"It's hard to believe we are already at the semi-finals, ladies and gentlemen, but here we are! Per usual, the _Daily Prophet_ featured an article this morning regarding the screaming match between Draco Malfoy and the American athlete, Miss Hermione Granger. If there was any speculation that the two were involved romantically, they have been swiftly put to rest."

**Gilderoy: **"Marvelous!"

**Rita: **"Yes… I am a _tad_ bit unconvinced, to be honest, though I am thoroughly relieved that the rumors are just that, rumors."

**Gilderoy: **"Did you say something?"

**Rita: **"Anyway… It's a wonderful day, and the stands are teeming with excited fans! This particular match does happen to have quite a bit of controversy."

**Gilderoy: **"Duel!"

**Rita: **"It isn't entirely out of the question, actually. For those of you who don't know, our beloved Brits will take on the bold and powerful Irish. The controversy is largely due to the proximity of Ireland to Great Britain and thus their constant appearance in regional competitions. It has been said that Malfoy has berated Finnigan on numerous occasions."

**Gilderoy: **"Oh my!"

**Rita: **"Yes, well it _is _rumor. As a proud English woman, I have to believe that our Draco Malfoy was perhaps misinterpreted and pegged as the bad guy. Nonetheless, it will be an interesting match, and the increased security are here to keep a careful eye on the crowd to make sure no rival onlookers do more than shout at one another."

**Gilderoy: **"What did he say?"

**Rita: **"Oh, Gilderoy, I'm surprised you haven't heard it by now. I will most definitely not be repeating it, anyhow. Our Parkinson and Malfoy have just made their way onto the field, now – Oh and look at _that_ – He's sporting quite the red welt. It looks as if the rivalry has progressed into physical confrontation, now! But the referees don't seem to be stopping the competition."

**Gilderoy: **"Allegations! Allegations!"

**Rita: **"That may be the first intelligent thing you've said all day, Gilderoy. The match is on, it looks like, and Parkinson opens with her trademark serve, sending Finnigan stumbling across the court after the ball. Is it just me, ladies and gentlemen, or does the young Irishman appear to have a limp?"

**Gilderoy: **"I'll mend it!"

**Rita: **"No. Just… No."

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking?" Pansy barked at him. Draco winced, gritting his teeth at her shrill tone. He had already waved away the attending doctors, trainers, and even his coaches at what appeared to be a feeble attempt to get some solitude.

The match had gone as horrible as expected, with the intensity of the crowd being immensely hard to ignore. Pansy had enviably kept a level-head the entire time and had done her usual best. She'd pulled practically all the stops in an attempt to better the Irish team.

Finnigan was hardly actual competition for them (yes, he was a skilled player, but he was still no match for Draco and Pansy) however his female counterpart, a petite little ginger with twice as much fire as Pansy, did give them a run for their money.

In the end, Draco and Pansy had won. They always did. They were a talented and phenomenally compatible tennis team if nothing else.

"He deserved it," Draco muttered.

"I don't _care_," Pansy seethed, following him into the lounge area where the other remaining teams milled about. He ducked into a side room, hoping to at least get some privacy if she was going to continue to scold him. "I don't care if he fucking asked for it, Draco! You could have gotten us _disqualified_. Did that ever occur to you?"

"Obviously, it occurred to me," he retorted. "That's why I backed off of him and told him to keep his fucking mouth shut and settle it on the court."

Pansy threw her racket on the ground, breaking it in two. "You imbecile." She kicked at the pieces on the ground, then looked at him with a somewhat softer expression. "You know how much I care about you. You've been my friend, and my teammate, for years. Practically since we were children." He tried not to avert his eyes, keeping them steadily on hers. "But _don't_ fuck this up for us."

Then she left him and grumbled something about having to string a new racket in time for the next match. He slumped against the counter of the small room and poked through a few drawers until he found what he was looking for: an ice pack.

"Let me," came a soft, feminine voice behind him.

Draco spun to see none other than Hermione Granger standing in the doorway. She quickly closed the door and shut the blinds. "Aren't you worried someone will see us?" He asked her. She took the gel pack from his hands and snapped it, releasing the chemicals and making it effective.

"I'm checking up on another athlete," she replied, shrugging her toned shoulders. She moved to press the cold pack to his orbital. "A friend." From how close she stood to him, Draco could see the array of freckles on her tanned skin, just where the thin strap of her dress touched her shoulders.

"The papers would love that." He mocked. "The firm believers that we're lovers will no-doubt put it in their column." She laughed at that and he felt something clench in his chest, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

"I don't think they're winning," she added. "Surely, there's more evidence that we're archnemeses."

"Infallibly."

"You really shouldn't let Finnigan get to you." Granger suggested, still holding the ice pack to his eye.

"He _doesn't_ get to me," he corrected. She pursed her lips at him, and Draco explained. "I don't know why everyone thinks I start everything. He started mouthing off and I just gave it back to him. It wasn't even my best work, to be honest, but it got to him. He hit first."

Much to his surprise, her face didn't soften. "Then, you had to go and practically shatter his ankle?"

He shook his head, taking the ice pack from her hand and setting it on the counter behind him. It had gone warm, and besides, it would be in the way shortly. "I didn't touch his ankle." Her dubious expression returned, and this time her hands found their way bossily to her hips. He smirked, "I hit his calf. Snapped his soleus."

Granger's face managed to stay appropriately reprimanding for approximately ten seconds, and then she couldn't help but bite her lip and stifle a chuckle.

"I can't believe you," she said, rolling her eyes.

His smirk only grew. Draco reached out and wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her close to him. He bent his head just enough to place a kiss on her forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment before pulling away and sauntering toward the exit.

"See you 'round, Granger."

* * *

Mixed Doubles:

Semi-Finals

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee: **"It's a fabulous day, folks! Welcome back to our broadcast, and in case you haven't heard, our young Americans, Granger and Potter, have just advanced to the finals! They will now face off the reigning champions, Parkinson and Malfoy, in the final match of the competition for the gold medal!"

**Luna: **"Into the maze, they go!"

**Lee: **"It will be puzzling, indeed! Good insight, Luna! Potter was all over the court earlier, per his usual style of mania, and sent several balls flying in every direction. The other team was out of breath just trying to keep up with him, and to no avail much to our pleasure!"

**Luna: **"Curiouser and curiouser!"

**Lee: **"Meanwhile, our Granger seemed to be much more in control of herself this match. She spent half of the sets just hanging out in one corner and _nothing_ got past her. It's safe to say those two know how to play to their strengths. What do you think, Luna?"

**Luna: **"Brave and bold!"

**Lee: **"Without question, without question! We have to agree with her, folks, don't we? There's going to be so much to look forward to in the next coming days as our dream team prepares to go for gold! Among many of the hot topics to discuss, though, is my personal favorite – the indication that for Malfoy and Granger there may be more going on than just your average Olympic rivalry."

**Luna: **"Enemies to lovers!"

**Lee: **"I wouldn't rule that out, that's for sure. It's intriguing enough having to sort through all of the rumors and alleged stories from the other athletes as to what is true and what is false when it comes to those two. Do you think they are risking it all – the reputation, the medals, the fame, the money – all for each other?"

**Luna: **"The prophecy doesn't say… Have you tried divination?"

**Lee: **"Not today, but nevertheless! Let's take a look at some old footage from our tennis superstars, Hermione Granger the Golden Girl and Harry Potter the Chosen One, shall we?"

* * *

Hermione paced the length of her hotel room, chewing nervously at her lip. By the time Harry finally walked through her door, her lip was swollen and sensitive.

"Where have you been?" She shot at him, swinging her racket wildly over her head. "I texted you _hours_ ago! I was in the middle of having a very real, emotional breakdown and needed to talk to you."

He blinked, dumbly opening and closing his mouth without saying anything as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the door behind him. A moment later, Theo Nott walked in with a handful or takeout Chinese and a bottle of wine.

"Where do you want - " He stopped abruptly at the sight of a frazzled Hermione standing before him, flashing daggers at Harry before regaining control of her outward appearance. "This isn't – Harry is this the right room?"

"We have to make a detour," Harry replied nonchalantly. "I'm sure I mentioned it."

"Perhaps you did. It's entirely plausible that I wasn't listening to what you were saying… well, at any given time, really." Theo shrugged. Then, he dimpled. "Hey, Granger."

"Nott," she smiled, then cleared her throat with a polite cough. "Would you mind if I borrowed Harry for a sec? Make yourself at home, of course." He nodded to her.

Hermione sighed, wrapping a possessive arm around Harry and dragging him toward the bathroom of her suite while Theo busied himself in another room. She grimaced at the large portions of fried rice, lo mien, and egg rolls. "You know," she called out to the English aristocrat in her kitchenette. "It's really not a good idea for Harry to be eating food with such high concentrations of MSG before a big match… Or, to be drinking anything that will result in dehydration for that matter."

Nott smirked at her, "Oh, this isn't for Harry. He already ate." Then proceeded to uncork his bottle of Pinot.

Well, alright then, she mused internally.

"Harry!" She whisper-yelled once they were alone. "What the hell?"

"What?" He furrowed. "I told you Nott would be coming if we qualified for the finals."

She groaned and began pacing again. "Yes, I know that. I didn't think it meant you would be bringing him _here_."

"Hermione, I don't understand. What does that have to do with…" He trailed off, gesturing unsubtly to her current state of existence: frizzed curls that sprung wildly out of her plait, crazed and widened eyes, and overall lack of composure.

"Nott happens to be best friends with Malfoy," she informed him bossily.

Harry sighed, "Yes. I'm well aware." He arched a brow as if to add, _I also know that you know this, so what's the point? Why does it matter? _

"Malfoy _is_ the crisis I am currently struggling with," she sighed. At that, Harry did seem shocked. She interrupted his slow reply (probably some form of "What?" or "Huh?") and went on. "We've been sleeping together." She confessed.

Harry's eyed bulged. "You _what?_"

"Yes, yes. I know. Listen, I don't need a lecture on how unprofessional that is. How grossly out of conduct for the Olympics." She reminded him. "What I do need, is your advice."

He scoffed and muttered several incomplete sentences before succumbing to simply blinking at her without saying anything. Hermione wondered if she had in fact just broken the Chosen One and ruined her chance at winning gold but cast that thought aside quickly.

"What – I – You – How long?"

Hermione nodded, appreciative that he had finally settled on a definitive question. "Nearly… Ooh, two years now?"

He sputtered again, choking on his inhalation. "What? WHAT?"

"It started when I first ran into him at Wimbledon, you know, when I first moved up to the professional level and started competing internationally? Yeah, basically since then. It was supposed to be a one-night stand. Then, it was supposed to be only physical and only whenever we were in the same city for a tournament or something. Except now I don't know anymore…"

Hermione continued ranting aloud to Harry, who remained perpetually confounded and thus thoroughly unhelpful in her navigating her muddle of thoughts and emotions toward the one thing in her life that was supposed to be fun, no strings attached, and just _easy_.

* * *

Mixed Doubles:

Finals

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita: **"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the final match of the London 2012 Olympic Mixed Doubles Tennis! Today our beloved Brits and reigning champions, Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy, will be competing against the newly Olympic American team of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter for the victory and gold medalist position. Here with us today is a very intriguing guest. BBC Sports welcomes Theodore Nott, Jr. to give his input on the match."

**Theo: **"Hello."

**Rita: **"Mr. Nott - "

**Theo: **"Theo, please, Rita."

**Rita: **"Right, ok then. Theo, you are a talented tennis player yourself. In fact, you took gold yourself last year in both the men's singles and the men's doubles. Given your current romantic relations with Mr. Potter, would you say that your allegiances have changed?"

**Gilderoy: **"What?"

**Theo: **"What?"

**Rita: **"Would you say, Theo, that you no longer find yourself rooting for your home country – for your nation? Is that why you no longer are competing in the Olympics? Why you haven't so much as picked up a racket in – Oh, what is it? – eighteen months?"

**Theo: **"Wait a second - "

**Rita: **"It's my belief that one would want to support their partner and see them succeed, do you find this to be an important trait, Theo?"

**Theo: **"Err… Yes?"

**Rita: **"Then, would it be reasonable to presume that you would prefer that Mr. Potter wins this match as opposed to your best mate? Do you cheer for America or for Britain, Theo? Hm?"

**Theo: **"I - "

**Gilderoy: **"Answer the question!"

**Theo: **"No comment."

* * *

**Lee: **"- and the first set of the match is underway, folks! Parkinson begins by sending an extremely strong serve hailing toward Granger's end of the court. This is incredible. The absolute talent among these four young individuals, I mean – OH! Advantage to Parkinson and Malfoy. Well, looks like our Granger and Potter are going to need to step up their game! This is proving to be quite the match."

**Luna: **"Flipendo!"

**Lee: **"Oh, good eye, Luna! The American tennis princess, Hermione Granger, took a bit of a beating after sending a backspin toward Malfoy's corner and nearly tripped! Oh, no! Looks like she's favoring her left leg, what do you make of that, Luna?"

**Luna: **"Where's her time-turner?"

* * *

**Rita: **"Well, Parkinson and Malfoy took the upper hand in the first set to put Great Britain in the lead ahead of the Unites States of America. It also appears that the young female for the American team has requested some medical assistance on the court!"

**Gilderoy: **"I CAN MEND IT!"

**Rita: **"Settle down, Gilderoy. No one is letting you _near_ that woman. Oh… She's standing up again. Unfortunately – I mean – _Apparently, _she is fine to resume the match. Potter is probably feeling extremely lucky, I'd say."

* * *

**Lee: **"We have a special guest here with us, folks, for the second set of the match! I'd like to welcome, Mr. Theo Nott, former tennis legend and heartbreaker, to NBC! Hey there, Theo! So glad you could join us here this morning. I heard you just came from BBC Sports… How did that go?"

**Theo: **"It was… Well… Uh…?"

**Luna: **"Rita Skeeter is an unregistered animagus!"

**Theo: **"What does she mean by that?"

**Lee: **"I have no idea, Theo! I can't promise you it isn't absolutely insulting either. But, while I have you here, would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?

**Theo: **"… Sure."

**Lee: **"I just wanted to say that I think it's fantastic that you have connections to both teams in the final match today! You are best friends with the British male player, Draco Malfoy, and you are also dating the American male player, Harry Potter. This must be a dream come true for you! Would it be safe to presume that no matter which team wins today, that you'll be extremely happy and proud of the men you came to support?"

**Theo: **"I – Yes? Yes, they're both exceptionally talented and have worked especially hard to get where they are today. All of them have."

**Luna: **"One cannot live while the other survives!

**Theo: **"_What?"_

**Lee: **"GRANGER IS DOWN AGAIN, I REPEAT, GRANGER IS – OH AND POTTER SAVES THE DAY – HE WINS THE SET FOR THE AMERICANS! THIS IS INCREDIBLE, FOLKS!"

* * *

**Rita: **"Ladies and gentlemen, this just in: Miss Hermione Granger _will_ be able to play in the final set of the match. The game is not over yet. It all comes down to this…"

**Gilderoy: **"What does?"

**Rita: **"This is it. The final moment. Granger is tasked with the impossible: Does she let Potter have the final serve or does she risk her injury and do it herself? Ooh, she's going to handle it herself. This is what the match comes down to – This is the moment Hermione Granger will remember for the rest of her life. If she manages to serve with the skill that we've seen her display all competition, then she could win it all right here. However, if her injury causes her to send the ball anywhere near Parkinson and Malfoy's clutches, then it could very well cost her the gold medal… The ball goes into Malfoy's corner of the court! He sends it flying back towards Potter, who dives to save it and – OH PARKINSON OVERHEADS IT AND WINS THE SET. GREAT BRITAIN WILL TAKE THE GOLD!"

**Gilderoy: **"WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!"

**Rita: **"Yes. Very good, Gilderoy."

* * *

Draco barely had time to catch Pansy as she leapt into his arms with a girlish shriek and a massive smile spread across her face. He knew deep down she would have preferred to smirk and walk off the court without so much as an acknowledgement as to what had just happened. Her reaction was for the benefit of the crowd, the sponsors, and every news article that would be written about their victory in the next coming days. (Women who were less than enthusiastic with their achievements were perceived negatively in the news and practically slandered for their so-called cold appearance or egotism; Unfairly, men were never perceived as such).

He let her down gently and waved to the British fans in the stands, reveling in his victory for a moment before the sight of Granger almost collapsing on the other side of the court caught his attention. It shattered his rose-colored glasses in an instant.

There were medics on top of her immediately, preparing to lift her and take her away on a stretcher. He knew what a scene that would be and how horribly the British press would react to her taking the attention away from its champions. Draco stood unhelpfully outside of the circle of medics and took Potter by the elbow.

"What happened?"

"It's her calf." He explained with a frown. "It's been bothering her, like it always is, but…" He trailed off, glancing at his teammate and moving to follow her off the court and into the athletic lounge and training room.

Draco followed and tugged forcefully at Harry's shirt. "But what?" He demanded, eyes flickering back and forth between Potter's worried appearance and Granger's pained one.

"But it was giving her a different kind of hell just before the match."

He blinked, backing away momentarily, "Why didn't she call it off? Why risk further injuring herself?" Then, Potter looked at him with the most patronizing expression and Draco had to bite down a frustrating groan from escaping. He knew exactly why she hadn't called it off. Bloody hell.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the medics wheeling her into one of the side rooms for treatment. He bolted after them and stood in the door with Potter on his heel. A large man sneered down at the two of them, "What do you think you two are up to?"

"I'm going in there!" Draco roared.

The man glanced skeptically at the two of them, then pointedly eyed Draco up and down. No doubt noticing that Draco was clad in a red, white, and blue tennis uniform for an _entirely different_ nation than that belonging to the woman being treated in the room behind him.

"Only one of you can accompany Miss Granger," he finally said.

Draco whipped around to threaten – or perhaps beg since that seemed equally likely at his current state of distress – to let him be the one to stand by her bedside. Potter was already giving him a stupid, crooked grin.

"I'll go find Nott before he gets into trouble," Potter said. "You stay with her. Make sure she lets them help her – like actually help her?"

He nodded and let out a sigh of relief as the messy-haired American boy traipsed off down the hall after his best mate. Maybe Potter wasn't so awful after all, Draco pondered. Luckily, that particular insane thought was halted by the more pressing matter at hand.

Granger was biting down on her bottom lip and clenching onto the foam table so much that her knuckles flushed white against her pink, angry skin. He slipped through the room full of medics and trainers to stand beside her head and take one of her hands in his.

"Hey," he murmured, jarring her eyes to open and stare bewildered at him.

"Malfoy?"

She gasped as one of the women crowded around her leg pulled at the tension in the muscle, blinking back tears. Draco let her dig her nails into his palm without complaint, and he brushed her hair back from her face, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

The small notion caused her to break from her concentration on the pain in her calf and stare wide-eyed at him again. "Malfoy," she hissed. "What are you doing? You can't – They'll see us - "

"It's fine," he assured her.

"No, it's not!" Granger protested. "They'll talk to the Committee, and you'll get your medal taken away!"

He shook his head. "They won't talk. They wouldn't do that to you. They just want you to get better, ok? So, let's focus on that."

"What – But – Why are you being so nice to me?"

He swallowed. Paused to stare into her large, brown eyes and grant himself one more second of blissful ignorance. Then, he owned up to his feelings, and opened himself up to her and a potential world full of pain.

"Because I like you, you beautiful idiot." Draco told her. "I've always liked you, I think, but now I'm sure. When Pansy and I won, and the crowd was cheering, and my anthem was blaring… All I could think about was you. How you felt, how much I wished I could share the victory with you, and how badly I wanted to hold you in my arms."

He took a deep breath.

"I don't want just physical, Granger. I don't want no-strings-attached. I want you. I want all of you, all the time, and in every way imaginable."

She inhaled sharply as they prodded and poked at her (most likely torn) calf muscle, and then exhaled a shaky breath. Her eyes never left his. His heart was beating a thousand beats per minute in his chest, and he wondered how much longer he could stand without hearing what she was thinking.

"Granger," he pleaded. "Say something."

"I - " She swallowed and a single tear slid out of the corner of her eye. He was swift to wipe it away, caressing her cheek as he did so. "I want that too."

"You do?"

"Yes," she choked, her breath catching on something between a giggle and a gasp. "I want it. I want everything you just said. I want you, however I can have you."

Draco smiled and leaned down to brush his lips against hers, tasting the salt on them as her tears – from both pain and pleasure – coated them. He pulled away just enough to nudge the tip of her nose with his.

"There's just one thing," she whispered against his lips.

"What's that, Granger?" He asked.

She sighed, "How exactly do you plan on going about this to the Committee? I still don't want either of us to lose any medals we earned here, and in any other competitions we were together at."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he covered their intertwined hands with his free one.

"Well…" He told her. "I have a theory."

* * *

**A/N - **I hope you enjoyed this one! Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews for my most recent chapters in this collection, I truly appreciate it! Much love! Also, for those of you requesting a continuation of _Bad Blood_ (Ch. 11) I am extremely pleased to inform you that is now a full-fledged WIP! It is called _The Art of Betrayal_ so please go give it some love (chapter two was just posted!). It wouldn't be there without your kind words and support xx


	14. Moonlight

_**Moonlight**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

_Summary: _Where there is a handsome and noble prince, there is an innocent and benevolent maiden whom requires rescuing from a curse bestowed upon her. It is also true that where there is power, there is a man prepared to seize it at any cost. This story has many elements (twisted fairytale, soulmates, historical fantasy, etc) but it does take place in an AU where Potterverse magic exists and is quite a dark read.

**A/N – **The playlist for this story can be found at the bottom of my page, and I highly recommend listening to it as you read. Enjoy!

* * *

_Once upon a time... in a land of magic, there existed three brothers whom were granted three artefacts of magic from Death himself that were each unique and extremely powerful. Before greeting Death again, the brothers agreed to split these artefacts among the pure bloodlines of magic that stemmed from each of them._

_To the Potter family, the cloak of invisibility. To the royal Malfoy family, the Elder Wand. To the Gaunt family, the Resurrection Stone. _

_Outside of the magical kingdom, and deep within the dark forest, lived a young girl who had been kidnapped at birth and raised by the man she believed to be her true father. He taught her wonderful things like caring for magical creatures and transfiguring a glass into a beautiful slipper and how to live with her curse._

* * *

The pressure from her father's hand is too much, and by the time she reaches the small clearing just beyond the garden, her hand is numb and aches with a dull pain. When her father is not looking, the young child rubs her hand and winces from the pleasure of the pain as the muscles begin to relax. Her father steps away for a moment and returns with a dandelion. He holds it out to her, and she takes it between her plump, child fingers.

"Now, my sweet rose," Her father says to her with a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. "Like we practiced – and _concentrate_."

The dandelion blows in the wind, each of its seeds soaring through the crisp air, seemingly lost forever. She does as her father tells her because he is clever and knows magic very well. He is a good teacher, and she wants to impress him above everything else.

It is difficult for her to focus because all she can think about is how hungry she is and how badly she wants to curl up in her favorite spot by the fireplace with her new berry juice and some unmarked parchment to paint a pretty picture. Then, she lets her mind wander to the idea of taking a wondrous nap because all of this practicing is exhausting.

The seeds of the dandelion all fly away and she pouts. Her father's blue eyes darken as he hands her the next weed. "Again," he says.

She does as he wishes because he loves her, takes care of her, teaches her, and she wants to make him proud. She _has _to.

Finally, after the third dandelion is placed in her small hands – and her father's mouth has twisted into a deep scowl – she manages to succeed. All of the seeds of the dandelion float through the air and find their way back onto the weed, into the precise place they had been before the wind carried them away.

The young girl looks up to her father and feels the corners of her lips turning into a shy smile. He doesn't say anything at first, and she begins to deflate, but then he rests a hand on her shoulder and tells her, "Well done, my little tulip."

Then, her demon pokes its head up; in her mind she can feel its red eyes fixated on the dandelion, and its claws scrape at her thoughts, petting them. Its voice is scary, and she can't help but raise her little hands to cover her ears even though she knows it won't make him go away.

_Burn the weed._

"But I fixed it," the child protests, trying her best not to babble. The demon doesn't like it when she babbles.

_Burn it, child, or I will burn your little cottage to the ground._

She swallows and meets her father's eye; he can tell from the expression on her face that her demon has just told her to do something. He waits patiently, if a little nervous, and his eyes never leave her.

Her chubby hand, the one not clutching the dandelion, waves over the pretty little weed and it instantly catches on fire. She drops it and backs away quickly, into her father's arms, and she watches as the beautiful plant is destroyed with no trace is left behind that it ever existed.

_Very good, child._

Then, her father leads her back towards their cottage and promises her a slice of apple pie before her next lesson.

* * *

_As the young child grew, she became more and more skilled at magic. Her father was relentless in his teachings and made sure she knew everything he wanted her to know about spells and charms and other things. However, her curse taught her dark magic, honing her into the perfect weapon for his destruction, though at the age of eleven, the young girl would not realize his intentions._

_Meanwhile, in the kingdom of magic, the young girl's absence goes unnoticed. She was the only child of a muggle couple whom did not know that their child was magic, therefore did not report her as missing to the magical authorities, but to the muggle ones. _

_The young girl's supposed father, conversely, was one of the most wanted people in the entire magical kingdom. He was presumed to be the murderer of his family, and the King of Magic, Lucius, knew that his particular family was responsible for holding one of the Hallows. With it and him missing, there was much speculation among wizards and witches of an uprising._

* * *

The night of her eleventh birthday, the young girl dreams as she normally does but there is something new and she finds herself drawn to it, curiosity overwhelming her better judgement.

Her mind is an exact replica of the enchanted lake she visits as often as she can – it is the farthest her father will let her wander away from the security of the cottage, but it feels infinitely safer as it is the only place that she has been to so far where the demon does not disturb her. In her sleep, however, he is able to accompany her and often does, hooded to obscure his ethereal body. The only thing visible beneath his dark cloak are his crimson red eyes.

However, when the young girl first slips into her dreamland, the demon is nowhere to be found. She enjoys the moment of reprieve before his inevitable apparition to her side and decides to wander along the bank of the lake where it meets the forest. In the corner of her eye, she notices a rabbit hole in the trunk of one of the trees.

That has never been there before.

Detrimentally curious, as young witches tend to be, she kneels in her peasant dress and peers into the abyss of the hole, unsure what she is looking for exactly but looking, nonetheless. Then, she is sucked into it and deposited roughly beneath the earth.

The roots of the trees line the ceiling of what appears the be an intricate tunnel of sorts. It is not tall enough for her to walk upright, so she is forced to crawl around, following a glowing green light further and further into the muddy tunnel.

It leads her to a small wooden door and disappears into the lock, lighting up the entire underground in a brilliant and bright flash of green. Once she dares to open her eyes, and they adjust to the darkness again, she sees the door is ajar and peers through it.

There is nothing, only blackness.

But then there are flashes of images made up of thousands of dust particles, and all of them are of someone she has never met but instantly feels drawn to. It is impossible to get an exact image of his entire portrait, but she is able to make out distinct features of his face that will have to satisfy her for the time being.

Lips full, and parting just enough to exhale a shaky breath. Eyes grey and intense like those of storm clouds threatening to break overhead. A small signet gold ring on a pinky finger, either displaying an M or a W; the image gone before you could discover which it was for certain.

Something jerks her out of the darkness, and she blinks to find herself sitting at the bottom of the tree without any rabbit hole in sight. Then, the voice of her nightmares sounds behind her.

_Hello, child. What have you got there?_

And because she doesn't wish for him to have her thoughts of the young boy she saw in the rabbit hole, she securely hides them in a vault in her mind; she quickly creates an inconspicuous rock with a wave of her hand and stuffs the memories deep underneath it so that her demon may never tarnish them or hold them against her.

The next morning at breakfast her father asks how she slept, and she wants to tell him about the rabbit hole and the images of the boy, but she bites down on her tongue to refrain from doing so, forcing another defense in her mind to protect her thoughts from her demon.

Besides, she has a feeling she would know exactly what her father would say about her dream. He would disapprove and be very upset with her; he has made it very clear that she is not to be around other people for their own protection.

"Your demon may decide it wants you to harm them, my sugary carnation," he would say. "I have kept you hidden from the kingdom for this very reason, and I know you feel lonely sometimes, but that is why you have your forest creatures. They will be your friends."

Except, once the young girl reached her teen years, the demon decided that wasn't going to be the case.

The young girl, now thirteen, goes to visit a porlock in the garden and smiles down at him, giving his tiny horns a gentle rub because she knows that's what he likes.

_I do not like this creature of yours, child. I do not think he would make a good companion of ours as he has no useful talent to harness. _

"Why should that matter?" She asks because now she is starting to feel little bits of rebellion bubbling in her veins.

_Do not question me. Ah, there – see that phoenix over there on the tall tree? Tame it._

"I can't climb up that!"

_Trust me, child. I will help you. You can climb it._

She swallows, unsure what to do. It's not like she has a choice – she never has a choice – but the tree is exceptionally tall and in order to even get close to the fiery bird she would have to climb very, _very_ high.

True to form, her demon enables her to make it up the tree without a scratch and now she's coaxed the bird into letting her hold it. She clutches the bird to her chest and stares down at the ground below, gulping loudly at the sheer height.

_Jump._

"What?" She croaks. "I'll die!"

_You will not. Remember?_

Oh, yes. The gift her father gave her last year. He told her it was because she was finally becoming a young woman of notable age and deserved to have a beautiful piece of jewelry. He gave her a ring that had belonged to the family for years, decades, generations, or so he claimed.

"It is very powerful, my honeyed amaryllis," her father had said as he placed the ring on her finger and charmed it to fit perfectly.

"Are you sure it's safe for me to have it?" She had responded, frowning at the black gem gleaming ominously on her finger.

"Yes," he nodded. "It is very important that you wear it at all times. It will protect you, my lovely lavender."

The girl did as he asked, of course, because she trusted him, and he had never lied to her before. He always kept her safe and alive and taught her how to endure the demon in her head. Then, unfortunately, she quickly found out what was so powerful about the sinister stone that had been in her family for generations.

The dark magic the demon had been teaching her one morning had been flowing from her body and it had begun searing every fiber inside of her, burning and destroying her from the inside out. She couldn't stop though because if she did, then the demon would kill her father. Eventually, however, her mortal body did give out and she collapsed to the ground.

Thanks to the ring, she would wake hours later. Every bone, every muscle, every part of her hummed with pain, but then her trusty little demon would resurface in her mind and tell her not to worry, he will fix her.

_Jump_, he says again now, piercing her worrisome thoughts.

She takes a deep breath and clutches the poor bird to her chest to cradle him from the fall because he does not have a magical resurrecting stone to protect him, and then she jumps.

Unfortunately, now the girl knows that having to unbreak every single one of her bones is as unpleasant as one would imagine, which is not ideal, but the process is accelerated by dark magic taught by the incorporeal red-eyed demon living in her; a parasite to its humble host.

* * *

_The young maiden, just shy of her nineteenth birthday, has become a very gifted witch and her demon was sure to reap the rewards of her studies soon enough. In the meantime, she has focused on being an obedient host, loyal daughter, and beloved caretaker of her forest pets. _

_Since she has not dared to venture outside of the dark forest – and the wizards and witches of the magical kingdom unwilling to venture inside it – she has no friends outside of her forest pets. The young maiden only ever has her demon and her father for company, and when she was brave enough to go down her rabbit hole, the glimpses of her golden boy. _

_It was still very unclear to her why or how she kept seeing him, but she knew it was pure enough to tempt her demon into corrupting it, so she kept the visions hidden deep within the maze of her mind. She would never know, of course, how truly valuable her occlumency and legilimens talents were._

* * *

A talon scrapes at the base of her orbital bone, summoning her.

_Well, let's see what progress you made, shall we?_

The young maiden sighs and gathers her tan skirts from the floor, packs up her notes on runes, and tells her father that she must go outside for a bit. He doesn't question it. The air is crisp and cool as summer is finally starting to turn to autumn and soon, she will be nineteen.

The phoenix, which she named Hugo, is soaring through the sky and disappearing through the red and orange tinted leaves with effortless camouflage. In a single whistle, he changes course and swoops down to perch on her extended arm. His claws pierce her skin but by now she is no stranger to pain, and this is hardly of consequence. Hugo is her friend and has been her pet for nearly six years now.

Hugo had been difficult to train, but it had paid off as he is now the most loving wild animal she has ever known. He knows her well and she knows him, and above all he has brought her so much joy – which is something she never would have dreamed of experiencing given her curse.

The demon claws at her thoughts and memories of Hugo, reviewing her method, and it latches on to her mind with its talons. She winces and Hugo immediately scoots further up her arm so that he may rub his pretty red head against her and comfort her. In return, she strokes his fiery feathers and murmurs what a good boy he is.

_You have failed me, child._

"What? No. I tamed him, just look – look at the memories – at how adoring he is. How loyal." She pleads, struggling to grasp at what the demon wants but can feel its ugly head turning violent.

_You did not tame him. You broke him. He is not obedient. He is ruined._

"But - "

_Kill him._

"No," she chokes. "I – I can't!"

_Very well, then I will do it for you._

"No!"

_It must be done, child._

The maiden gapes at Hugo, at his beautiful dark eyes and feel her large, brown ones start to tear up at the thought of being without him. He was everything to her and she cannot imagine going on without her only friend.

"I don't want to see it," she finally says because she knows the demon will get its way; it always does.

_Then, don't._ _I don't care._

So, she hides.

She disappears deep into her mind and walks along the edge of the forest, trying to focus on the mirrored lake and its intriguing occupants below in order to think of something – _anything_ – except the fact that the demon is currently taking over her body and killing her beloved friend and pet.

She is pulled from her subconscious to the forefront of her mind again and the demon stretches its claws as it walks away and hides in whatever part of her body it hides in when it is not poking around her head. Her muscles are spent and sore; there is mud and blood all over her and she hastily wipes her hands on her dress as she blinks back tears. Then, despite the exhaustion, she sprints away from the cottage and toward the lake.

Being without her demon, even for a short while, brings salvation to her mind. In this safe place, far from where his claws can reach in and take hold of her, she leans back on a tree trunk and lets her mind wander toward the rabbit hole.

Unfortunately, the rock idea back in the day hadn't worked. The next time she went to visit it, the memories were gone. So, now, she must go down the rabbit hole whenever it appears and crawl through the underground tunnel to open the door at the end if she wants to glimpse at the golden boy who enchants her dreams.

The boy grows as she does and is practically a man now just as she is a woman. As they both age there are new discoveries that intrigue her. He has fair hair, and after being gifted an up-close vision with the sun shining down on it, she realized that it is not necessarily blond as she once thought. Each strand is silvery and translucent, barely containing any color whatsoever, but when they layer on top of one another, they shine a brilliant gold.

He is quite beautiful from what she can tell; his cheekbones are sharp and angular while his jaw is equally as prominent. His bone structure is attractive, but it is his eyes that take her breath away, and it is them that she looks forward to seeing every time she goes down the rabbit hole.

A small peck at her bare feet followed by chirping brings her back to reality with an abrupt gasp. There are two blue birds hopping excitedly around her lap before they take flight and perch in her disastrous curls.

"What is it?" She asks them.

The chirp enthusiastically and lead her toward a small clearing between the forest and the lake where there are two rabbits bouncing happily around in worn riding boots and a black raven peering at her from beneath a pile of embroidery.

"What in the world," she ponders aloud as she approaches the forest creatures.

The young maiden lifts up the fine fabrics and scrutinizes them; it appears to be some sort of velvet cloak of a blue so dark and mysterious, lined with a sparkling silver thread, that reminds her of the twinkling night sky. Then, a bowtruckle appears from a low hanging branch with a delicate silver crown.

"Where did you get these?" She asks the critters.

Instead of looking shamefully away, they instead exchange what must be their version of mischievous grins and begin to ensemble in a poor representation of a prince. The raven, as the main frame of the prince from beneath the cape, flaps its wings as the bowtruckle sits nervously on top of its head and blue birds swoop in to hold out the edges in a makeshift proffered hand.

"Why," she gasps, giggling a bit at the strange sight. "I would love this dance. Thank you, kind sir."

So, the young maiden dances with her forest creatures because they are all she has left that brings her happiness these days aside from the glimpses of the golden boy in her dreams. In the back of her mind, she wonders if it would be possible to run away from home; if the demon would somehow not follow her. She didn't know very much about her curse and hadn't previously been inclined enough to experiment with what the demon would allow.

But then she thinks of her Father, and not only of his loneliness but also of his warnings that she as not to be around other people, so really – where would she even go? Even though her father is always distant and moody, and she can't figure out how to please him anymore, she still loves him and would never want to leave him alone.

So, she decides to treat yourself to a silly, childish dance in the forest because she has no desire to return to the cottage and to her demon just yet.

She is not a very good dancer – her father never saw the purpose of her learning such a thing because despite being a maiden, there were no chances of her attending any celebrations where there could be hundreds of innocents for her demon to make into victims – and it takes a few minutes for her to twirl alongside the imaginary prince before she is no longer stepping on the rabbits play-pretending to be his boots.

Suddenly, the weight of her partner changes and the cloak feels much less like soft, buttery velvet and much more like rough, stable hands.

"Oh," she gasps as she stops spinning to see an actual man standing before her.

He smiles at the young maiden beatifically before bending to bow. She drops into a quick and horrific curtsy because she honestly has no idea how to curtsy, only that it was a customary greeting for women, or so her father used to mention in his bedtime stories.

"I'm awfully sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Oh, it – it wasn't that," she lies as she shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

He is dressed impeccably well, and it is clear that the forest creatures stole his clothing for her entertainment. There is a knowing look in his eyes, and their hue takes her by surprise. If she didn't know better, she would say that the slate grey was that of the one from her dreams.

But that couldn't be possible…

"Then what was it?" He prompts, his mouth turning upward into a smug smile.

"Well, you are a – a stranger."

He takes her in his and traces the lines of her palm slowly, methodically, and with a gentle touch she's never experienced before. It is suddenly very difficult for her to expand her lungs and take in air; the spark of electricity from his touch is turning her brain to mush and she finds it extremely difficult to protest his touch with a dry throat.

"I'm not a stranger," he says; his hand intertwining your fingers as the other reaches up to caress her face. Astonishingly, to her, she doesn't flinch or recoil. "We've met before, don't you remember?"

The maiden blinks.

"That's not possible. We've never met. I've never met anyone…" she says, and her words trail off as she manages to refrain from adding that she's certainly never met anyone _like him_ before.

"Oh, yes," his hand cups her cheek for a moment before sliding behind her ear to tuck the loose tendrils of hair out of her face. "I would recognize these abominable curls anywhere."

She coughs, "I beg your pardon?"

"I meant no offense," he claims with a smirk.

She struggles to believe him but opts to focus on the more prominent matter at hand as she steps away from his touch. "We've never met," the young woman insists.

"Of course, we have," the young man states simply, and a hint of a genuine smile flashes across his features before he schools his face into its original state of mockery. "Once upon a dream, don't you remember?"

"I – What?"

But then it hits her, and she knows that he's right. She _has_ met him before. He is the golden boy from the depths of her dreams; it is quite obvious now, after she searches his face again, that his cheekbones, jaw, and fair hair are all the same, and the gleam in his alluring eyes is so familiar a gleam.

"You," she breathes incredulously.

When he reaches for her hand again, she doesn't pull away. "Me," he smirks.

Suddenly, her heart swells with an unfamiliar warmth and it spreads over the length of her body, coursing through her veins. It feels as if her body is buzzing with energy, excited and nervous, and her stomach flutters and flips at the new rush. It is unlike anything she's ever felt before as it has absolutely no sinister feeling seeping through the cracks – there is no promise that the adrenaline will subside as the demon reappears to direct her magic and power elsewhere… somewhere more wicked.

It is pure and breathtaking, and she never wants to let it go.

"What is your name?" The young man asks, tipping the maiden's chin up. He brushes his thumb down the sensitive skin of her neck which is pulsing harder and stronger with every breath she takes in his proximity.

"My – my name?" She mumbles.

He nods, and she can tell he's stifling a chuckle. But then the pretty picture and warm feeling fades, leaving her facing the ugly truth of her reality. The young maiden is left shivering from the cold as she, once again, steps out of his gentle touch.

"I can't. I'm sorry. It's – it's too dangerous."

His face contorts into melancholy and misunderstanding, but she turns swiftly to leave before the expression across his face breaks her fragile, glass heart.

"Wait!" He calls out, grasping at her wrist to pull her back towards him. "Please," he begs. "When can I see you again?"

"Oh, you can't!" She wails, "I can never see you again. Never."

"But – but we're – " He sputters.

"I have to go," she shouts, tugging free from him and sprinting further into the woods. He trails behind, of course, and she has to stop brusquely to stare at him with wide, wild eyes. "Don't you see? I'm dangerous. I could hurt you… and I don't want to hurt you."

"Then, don't." He shakes his head and sighs, "I must see you again. You don't understand."

There is an uncomfortable fluttering in the maiden's chest as the desires of her heart battle the fear of the demon returning to rule her mind and body. Then, miraculously, her heart wins against her logical brain.

The maiden finally chokes out, "Tomorrow. Midnight. Here."

He lets go of her hand that time, and she races as fast as she can back to the cottage before her father begins to worry or, more likely, the demon decides to punish her absence by having _her_ punish her father the minute she returns.

* * *

_The kingdom of magic rejoiced: their darling prince has found his princess! Joy to the world! Long live the future king and queen!_

_The young prince begged his parents, the king and queen, to give him a bit more time with the young maiden before he must ask her to accompany him back to the kingdom – to the palace and her place at his side. Royalty can be lonely and treacherous, for one is never quite certain who is friend or foe and the young prince worried that the magical bond they shared would not be enough for her to stay._

_He worried that _he _would not be enough for her. _

* * *

The young maiden wakes the next morning to find her room in complete ruin. The draperies are torn and shredded, blowing uselessly in the wind; the old wooden chair and writing desk are in pieces, splintering everywhere; books are strewn over the floor with their pages ripped and bloodied.

There is a coppery, acidic taste in her mouth and she instantly fights back the bile rising in her swollen throat.

_There, there, child, _the demon coos in the base of her skull sounding unapologetic and unsympathetic, _I will teach you a simple spell to mend everything._

"What happened?" She tentatively inquires.

Ever since the incident with Hugo, the demon has left the maiden out of whatever evil he entertains himself with; her subconscious steps swiftly aside to let him take the reins, and then when it is all over, she wakes knowing nothing of what malevolence he performed in her body.

_You were especially defensive last night. If I find out that you've been hiding something from me, there will more hell to pay than a messy room I can assure you. _

She nods absently, then follows his instructions as to how to bring the room back to its original state of order.

Downstairs, her father is staring into the fireplace with an obscure expression. He says nothing and spares her no glance, so she leaves the cottage to wander about the garden, busying herself with mundane tasks. It takes much effort to protect her daydreaming from the demon's clutches, and it will take much more effort to sneak away tonight, but she tries not to think about that.

Her father is asleep in the room across from her, and she cannot feel her demon stirring in her thoughts. Taking advantage of his elsewhere-ness in her body, the maiden quickly throws a cloak on over her shift and tip-toes downstairs, wincing every time the old wood creaks beneath her bare feet.

The sodden earth squishes between her toes and the tall luscious grass tickles her ankles as she makes her way through the sinister forest and to the clearing by the enchanted lake of which she is so fond of; unsurprising but much to her delight, she arrives without any inkling of a demon lurking in the shadows of her mind.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," the young nobleman says when she emerges from the fog.

The maiden holds tightly onto the cloak around her shoulders, shivering with nerves. "It was impossible not to," she admits with a sheepish smile.

He nods understandingly, "I know the feeling. It's quite interesting, don't you think? I mean, it's all anyone can talk about after their eleventh birthday but still… there are no words for the pull once you've met them."

She blinks, then frowns as he guides her along the edge of the clearing to a wool blanket he laid out. His wording is entirely confusing, but the last part nags at her above the rest of it.

"Met who?"

"Your soulmate, of course," he answers with a roguish grin. Then, probably from the way she looks at him as if he spontaneously grew an extra head, blinks and studies her face. "When I said I knew you from a dream, you know I meant - "

"Yes," she says, cutting him off impatiently. "I knew what you meant. You started seeing images of someone else on your eleventh birthday?"

"Visions of you – pieces of you, like a puzzle – yes. It's part of the magic of it."

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, hating how confused she feels. Her father never let her feel like this; he was always adamant about her studies and the importance of knowing everything there is to know about a spell. The devil is in the details, but so is the key, he would tell her.

"Of what?" She demands, blinking up at the young man. His blond hair falls slightly onto his forehead; she desperately wants to reach out and touch it.

He sighs, "Soulmates, like I said – I don't – Didn't your family, your parents, ever tell you about it? Every child of magic knows about it."

"Father never mentioned it…" She says trailing off, wondering if that was why he was always asking how she slept or if she met anyone in the woods when she was younger. After a few months of denying it – because it had only been in her dream and couldn't possibly have meant anything – he had eventually let it go and stopped asking about it.

"Well," he said, plucking at the blades of grass around them. "That's a shame. But no matter – you have me, now so…"

He made it sound so simple, so certain, and it brings a smile to her face because she _believes_ him. For some obscure and unknown reason, it is true. She has him, and he has her.

In her mind, something clicks into place.

The maiden finds herself in her rabbit hole again, crawling to the end of the tunnel but instead of falling into a dark abyss, there is a new world on the other side of the small wooden door. A bridge of intertwining roots and vines forms and leads her across the lake to an unknown and unexplored place; a wonderland of sorts amidst her haunting mind and she instantly knows that it is free from her demon. It is too pure for him to be allowed into it. The sun shines on a field of poppies; in the distance, there is a towering castle.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

There he is: her golden boy and, apparently, her soulmate. It was something she didn't quite think she could ever get used to.

"Where are we?" She asks because last she could remember, the two of them were sitting on the blanket in the clearing and this opulent place didn't very much feel like reality.

"In a dreamland," he confirms. "This particular part," he says, gesturing to the flower field, "exists somewhere between both of our mindscapes. It belongs to us."

"But – wait – what?"

He shrugs, "I've never been here before now which I presume is because we never officially met before now but… I only know what I can gather from what others have told me and everyone's experiences are different so…"

Her face scrunches up dubiously, "Others?"

"Yes," he says, looking at her and raising a single silver brow which makes her instantly envious of his ability to do so. "Other soulmates."

"Oh," she gasps. "So, every pair has a – a dreamland – of their own?" He nods, and her eyes wander from the spacious field of crimson poppies to the stone structure sitting at the top of the hill in the distance. "Is that supposed to be your mindscape?"

The young man nods again, then takes her hand and faces the bewitched woodlands on the other side of the bridge, "I'm guessing that must be yours then." He arches another brow down at her and adds, "How do you organize your thoughts, protect them, when there are no doors?"

She shrugs, offering him a teasing smile. "Rabbit holes." At that, he laughs, and it lights up his entire face, showering her in its warm golden glow and bringing her to an unknown state of elation.

There is a pull, an invisible hand tugging at her, and she blinks to find herself back in the physical world with him sitting beside her and his hands brushing back her wild curls.

"What's your name?" He murmurs in the breath of space between their faces.

"I don't know," the maiden admits, then hurries to explain. "I haven't heard it for years, since I was a baby. Or perhaps, not even then. I really can't remember." He opens his mouth to respond, but she goes on. "Father usually calls me endearing nick names and the – Err, never mind."

"No name?" He repeats. "Really?"

She shakes her head, "No."

"Well, that's – Wait – Surely, your friends don't call you silly pet names?" His eyes, a gorgeous dark grey, search her face and her heart aches at having to crush his hopes.

"I don't have any…" she whispers.

"I – I thought you were joking when you said… You've truly never met anyone else?"

She swallows, her fingers clenching and unclenching in the palms of her hands, leaving angry red crescents behind. "No. It's always been just Father and I," and her demon, but she leaves that part out, though it unhelpfully reminds her that her happiness here, with him, will be short-lived.

"Hm," he muses.

One of his hands drops to tilt her chin up, and her breath hitches at the gleam in his eyes.

She has never been kissed – obviously – but now she desperately wants to be. She wants him, this precious golden boy of hers, and she is desperate to have him. No matter the cost. No matter how deeply she will suffer for it later. A second with him, touching him and being touched by him, is more than worth it.

"What is your name?" She asks, though it comes out at barely more than a whisper, lost in the midnight winds.

"You don't know who I am?" He asks her. The maiden shakes her head, and points out that as she mentioned before she has never met anyone and therefore how could she possibly know who he is? He scoffs, and a disbelieving smile pulls at his lips. Lips she very much wanted to taste. "I'm Draco Malfoy," he says, then pauses.

Unhelpfully, her brain chooses that moment to notice the silver shimmer in his golden hair and identifies it as a petite crown – the very same crown the bowtruckle stole the day before.

"You're… royalty?" She ventures.

"A prince," he confirms with a chuckle. "You really are quite secluded out here, aren't you?"

"Yes," she mutters, trying to fight the heat rising to her pale cheeks. "I'm not allowed to be around other people. I'm dangerous."

"You said that before," the prince points out. "What does that mean?"

"I - " She knows that she should trust him; her heart implores her to. He is her soulmate after all, and this cannot be a trick of the mind. It would be far too elaborate for the demon, who detests complex torment. "I'm cursed," she manages to say.

Once again, the maiden let her heart win the battle – she has no doubt it will win the war as well, if it were up to her.

"Cursed?" He blinks, and she nods. "What kind of curse?" The maiden bit her lip, hesitant to reveal more about herself; soulmate or not, she only just met him. Luckily, the young prince seems to pick up on her uncertainty, and adds, "One a handsome prince might be able to remedy?"

He taunts her with a crooked smile.

The young maiden bites her lip because in all honesty, she has no idea and therefore what could she possibly tell him? Instead of answering truthfully, she elects to return his coquettish expression with a teasing smirk of her own and whispers, "Who said you were handsome?"

"Oh!" He cries out, laughing. "How enthralling! The fair maiden doth bite after all," then wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her down to the soft blanket, bracing himself on top of her. "You are so beautiful," he says, and her heart momentarily stops.

"Draco," the maiden says, tasting his name on your tongue. It is bittersweet. "That's a constellation, isn't it?"

His eyes sparkle like the night sky and she knows with absolute certainty that the name is too apt for it not to have been his fate. Then, he confirms as much. "Yes. Constellation names are a bit of a family tradition." His lips remain parted as he pauses, and his eyes drop to study her face.

"That's lovely," she whispers in response, daring to let her dexterous hands explore his strong arms and solid back.

If he is hers, as both of their dreams prove true, then it would not be a sin to be so intimate with him would it? Though, even if it were, she considers that it would be worth it to have him all to herself regardless.

No matter the cost, she thinks, she will have him.

"You are so beautiful," the prince says again, his eyes glazing over like he's lost in a trance. "The way you glow it's mesmerizing and captivating and – right here – the way the moonlight catches your eyes? – I never knew you could hold moonlight until now, holding you in my arms."

"Draco," she breathes, but he's still lost in his trance, looking down at her like you are the answer to his prayers; the one he has spent his whole life searching for – and perhaps it's true. Perhaps she feels the same way.

"Moonlight," he repeats again, barely above a whisper. "May I call you that? Moonlight?"

The young maiden nods, feeling tears prick at her eyes because this is the first time that she can ever remember wanting to burst with so much happiness and content.

It will prove very difficult for her to contain such strong emotions a secret from her demon, but she has lived with him for nineteen years now and her mind was as strong as stone – as impenetrable and invincible as ever. She would protect her memories and her emotions of her prince with everything she had.

Every look he gives her, and every smile… there is no denying that he already has her heart. Every brush of his thumb against her cheek, and every almost-kiss… makes her want to give him her body.

A sinister thought creeps into the forefront of the maiden's thoughts, disrupting the magical moment between her and her prince, and she bites back a frustrated growl. "I have to go," she tells him despondently. "I have to return before Father and – before Father realizes I left."

He dutifully helps her to her feet, the noble prince he is, and his hands never leave her waist. "My moonlight," he murmurs, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "May I kiss you?"

Yes – yesyes_yes_.

It the only thing she never knew she wanted, needed, _desired_ above all else.

Replying to him seems tedious and a waste of time, so instead, the maiden brings her lips to his. It is not a kiss, not really, because she does not know how to do that sort of thing. Arithmancy and runes are fine – easy and predictable even – but kissing boys? Princes? Soulmates? That was something entirely new and wholly unpredictable and it scared the hell out of her.

Her lips brush against his, lingering for half a breath, before she pulls away. She keeps her eyes closed to relive the moment for as long as time will allow before she must leave. But then he takes her next breath in his and pulls her bottom lips between his, sucking gently on it.

The kiss is over before she knows it and she is left dazed.

"When can I see you again?" She asks him, her hands tracing the sharp angle of his jaw, and the tiny pricks of his facial hair growing in excites her.

The prince laughs a wonderful, melodious laugh and beams down at her, brushing a thumb across her lip, pulling it down and tracing her bottom teeth.

"Soon," he promises.

* * *

_While the kingdom of magic was busy planning a welcome feast and a wedding, the dark forest as teeming with animosity. Soon, there would be a reckoning and because the joyous wizards and witches were too focused on a promising future, they would not see the storm brewing and threatening to vanquish it all._

_The young maiden was fearful of her curse and the harm it would cause others through her, and she was reluctant to let her prince sweep her off of her feet and out of the forest. She thought that after spending her entire life cooped up in an ominous place, that she would bolt at the first opportunity to leave it behind. But there was always the promise of her demon coming with her – and with it, the destruction of everyone and everything she loved._

* * *

Her father looks distraught and the shadows under his eyes suggests that he hasn't slept in days. The maiden clears her throat and asks if there is anything that she can do to help him, but he waves her away.

"No, my exquisite lily," he says with an exasperated sigh. "Do not worry about me,"

"Is it," she pauses to teeter on the balls of her feet. "Is it because of me? Is it because of my curse?"

He stands and tosses the book he had been reading aside, then crosses the room to settle his icy blue eyes on the young girl with untamable curls and unbelievable power.

The maiden blinks up at him; she always noticed how dissimilar her features were to her father's.

With her wild brown curls' far less capable obedience than she, and her big brown, curious eyes. While his black straight hair always slicked back into perfection and his eyes, eternally sharp and piercing, a shade lighter than the clear sky.

When she was younger, he would tell her it was because she resembled her mother more, but he hadn't entertained any questions she had about her mother for years now, and so she stopped asking them.

"Is it bothering you, the demon?"

What an incredibly ridiculous question, she thinks. Her father is usually cleverer than that, but he does seem exhausted so perhaps he's not thinking clearly.

"No more than usual," she tells him with a guilty shrug. "He lets me hide when he takes over nowadays… I don't want to see the havoc I wreak because of him, not after – not after Hugo."

Her father nods, and then places a bony hand on her shoulder in near-perfect mimicry of what her demon would do when he commands her around the labyrinth of her mindscape, ordering her to enlighten him as to what secrets and memories lie underneath the mysterious lake or within the dark forest.

"It is probably for the best, my iridescent orchid." Her father says. His grip tightens momentarily, bringing her attention to his hooded gaze. "But you must always do as he says, understood? Let him have his way and you will be fine."

"What if – He is always causing damage and destruction. What if he decides to inflict his evil on people?" She panics, scared that the very notion seems inevitable.

The older the young maiden has become and the more powerful a witch, the more the demon expects her to do. As she mentioned to her father, by some miracle the demon grants her the bliss of ignorance, but she knows there is something wicked and vile stirring in his otherworldly body that he will ultimately unleash on the world via her as his unwilling host.

"A curse is a curse, my gentle sunflower. It cannot be helped."

Her father gives her one last wistful look before returning to his book by the hearth. She observes that in the span of the few minutes that they had been talking, he had somehow regained all of the energy and life that had been drained of him earlier. His complexion is flawless and his eyes twinkle as the sunlight catches them. In fact, if she were to squint, she wouldn't even be able to make out a single wrinkle – not that he ever looked like he aged anyway.

How peculiar.

She begins to contemplate what might have caused her father to regain his liveliness – there hadn't been a potion in his hand, had there? – as she wanders toward the kitchen in search of breakfast.

_No need such thing, child._

"Why not?" The maiden asks, frowning at the bowl of fresh berries.

On the other side of the small cottage, her father doesn't even look up at her sudden uptake in conversation; she presumes it is because he has lived with her curse for as long as she has and is used to the occasional one-sided discussions.

_I will make you feel full. _

"That's hardly the same thing," she notes.

_I don't care. Outside. Now._

She sighs and gives in to him, if for nothing else, to stop the painful scraping of his claws against her bones as a way to hurry her along into whatever he wished her to do next. As the demon promised, she is no longer hungry the minute she turns away from the kitchen and leaves the cottage behind.

_Up the hill_.

She does as she is told, hiking up the sharp incline and huffing heavily once she is at the top. She remembers learning to duel up here with her father, but it has been well over a year since the last time she visited it.

"What are we up to today, O Treacherous One?"

A sharp pain shoots up her spine and settles in the base of her neck, causing her to flinch and writhe reflexively.

_Do not mock me._

"Yes," she gasps. "I'm sorry."

_I thought you no longer wanted to bear witness to our undertakings. Is that no longer the case, child?_

"No," she mutters, shaking her head vigorously.

_Then, by all means, leave me to my business. Go to sleep._

The young maiden closes her eyes and welcomes the black abyss that takes over, falling into a deep and uneventful sleep. As it is, dreaming is far superior to waking these days in her opinion. However, unfortunately, there would be no glimpses of her golden boy during this sleep. There would be… nothing.

She wakes in her bed and winces at the immediate pain humming throughout her body. There are cuts and bruises all over her fair skin with mud and blood covering her dress. She notices that none of it appears to be originating from her, though the thought doesn't settle her nerves. What has she done now? What has her demon done?

The maiden pokes around her mind for her demon but he is nowhere to be found which is peculiar because usually he takes sadistic pleasure in being there when she wakes beaten and frightened. The spell to heal her wounds and clean her clothes is routine and she quickly waves her hands over her body before getting out of bed.

In the room across from hers she can see her father examining an oriental throw that doesn't look even remotely familiar, but before she can open her mouth to ask what it is, he wraps it around himself and immediately vanishes.

Her eyes go wide and she gasps but then the door to his room shuts and she feels pain immediately prickling behind her eyes. The maiden flees the cottage and runs for the sanctity of her beloved lake. It is there that she struggles to take in air and will her hands to stop trembling.

The neigh of a horse alerts her to someone coming, and she flashes a grateful smile when she sees the distinguishable head of blond hair with a gleam of silver flashing between the golden strands.

"Oh, thank Merlin," he breathes as he hops down from the white stallion and takes her in his arms. "I thought you might have been injured. It was so close to you, right on the outskirts of the kingdom and – I'm just so glad you're ok," he says as he runs his deft hands through her curls. "You have no idea how worried I was." He pauses to look at her and she blinks up at him, still a bit on edge but mostly confused. "What's wrong?"

"I - " She blinks. "Wait, what did you say happened?"

"There was a fire," he replies solemnly, all the while brushing his hands up and down her bare arms. "An entire family was killed – with an unforgivable curse – and their house burned down to ground."

"Unforgivable curse?" She asks, her tongue heavy in her dry throat.

"Yes," his eyes are dark, and she recognizes the look as thoughtful. "There are three – each of their own evil and entirely banned from wizards or witches using them because, well because they're inexcusable."

The maiden feels a sense of dread sitting uncomfortably in her stomach, but she presses him, "What are they?"

"Well, there is the cruciatus curse which inflicts excruciating pain on the recipient, torturing them," he tells her, and her mind begins to reel making her feel dizzy; she recognizes the name because it sounds an awful lot like _crucio _which she recalls her demon teaching her some years ago.

"Then, there is the imperius curse which places the victim under mind control essentially by causing them to perform whatever the caster wants without question," he says. The maiden exhales shakily but doesn't recognize this one and feels slightly better for it.

But then the prince goes on and the dreadful tingling in her muscles returns with a vengeance.

"Finally, and most notably, there is the killing curse which was causes instantaneous death. The spell, _Avada Kedavra, _is only as powerful as the caster which is as dangerous as it is relieving. An amateur wizard may only cause a nosebleed on its victim, but an experienced and highly skilled wizard could easily slaughter entire families. It's why the kingdom is currently in chaos over the Potter's."

His eyes are dark and hooded because, understandably, the subject matter is sensitive and bothers him deeply. The unforgivable curses are, as he said, not to be taken lightly and not for the light-hearted, either.

The maiden, however, falls between his arms and sinks to the sodden forest floor, gasping for air. The last curse is unfortunately very recognizable to her; she doesn't have to ask him if there is a violent flash of green light when the spell is cast because she knows that there is.

"Hey," he says, immediately kneeling beside her. "Are you alright? I won't let anything happen to you. I won't let anyone use any of these terrible curses on you, ok? Never. I promise you won't ever have to witness their horrors."

She swallows with difficulty, daring to meet his steady gaze. "You can't promise that," she mutters.

"Moonlight," he exhales, brushing his knuckles down her cheek. "I swear - "

"You can't promise me, Draco," she interrupts. "Because I'm afraid I am already too familiar with them."

His lips fall open and his brows furrow in confusion, but the maiden is already shaking her head at him as she pieces together her unquestionable whereabouts.

"The family," she begins, pausing to gather herself together. "The one who - "

"The Potter's," he repeats, hanging his head and shifting to sit beside her and wrap his arms around her. "I wasn't very close with them, per se, but they were a prominent noble family and whose history was interwoven with mine."

"How?" She asks.

"You have never heard of the tale of the Three Brothers?" He ventures. When she shakes her head, burying her face in his neck, he strokes the curls away from her face and tells her the story. He ends with, "My family keeps the Elder Wand well hidden, of course, and no one has seen the Resurrection Stone since – well – in a very long time which is why the Potter's being targeted and with the cloak of invisibility unaccounted for, fear is running rampant in the kingdom right now."

"Draco," she gasps, sitting up straight and detangling herself from him. "This – This is – We have to go – I know – Oh, god what have I _done_? – Why would Father – and the Stone?"

Her mind was shattering the glass that had been carefully put in place to protect her from anything her demon had done recently when she disappeared within herself to sleep. There were flashes of green, screaming people, and the same cloak her father wrapped around himself before vanishing. It was all too much.

"My, my," came a hideous voice from behind. "Is there where you've been running off to, my delectable daisy?"

Her father crooks one of his telltale smiles at her, but there is something infinitely more sinister about it, and it strikes her as vaguely reminiscent of her demon.

"Father…?"

"Hm," he notes, tilting his head to the side to peer at the blond prince standing up beside her. "Interesting. I didn't even have to coerce you into handing me the final piece of the Hallows."

"What - "

"My clever lotus," her father interrupts. "Surely, you've figured it out by now?"

_Or, would you prefer me to enlighten you?_

The voice that had once haunted her every hour, scraping its nails against her skull and digging its claws into her thoughts, suddenly didn't sound quite so ethereal or ghostly anymore. The hooded figure in her mind with its blaring red eyes morphed into her father; his figure standing tall and smug as he revealed himself, the hood falling at his feet.

Her mind snapped her back to reality with a forceful motion.

"You," she seethes.

"Hm, yes." He replies nonchalantly. His smile creeping at the corners of his mouth, twisting the knife further into her heart. "Me."

"Moonlight," the prince whispers, taking her wrist in his grip and edging her backward to stand behind him. "That's not your father. It can't be."

"Very clever, young Malfoy." The man who was her father but apparently not her father applauds him. His eyes glint as he produces a wand from his breeches, leveling it at the prince's head. "Do you happen to know _who_ I am? I'm very curious to know if I'm as famous as I last recall being."

"You are," he replies, voice clipped. His own wand is raised at the dark-haired wizard opposite him. The young maiden watches, unable to produce a wand of her own for never having owned one, and the prince goes on, "It was only after you arrived that I finally placed the ring on her finger. I'm genuinely surprised you chose to give it away, Lord Voldemort."

"Yes, well, I needed her to do a few errands for me and some of them were quite perilous. Kidnapping and retraining a new witch or wizard seemed so tedious, so letting her die and bringing her back over and over again felt much easier. Less work." His eyes slide over to the young maiden he raised, and she is gaping at him. "About that ring, child," he says, voice low and threatening. "I will be needing that back."

"No," she defies.

"No?" He challenges with a chuckle. "Perhaps, you simply need a bit more convincing? You were always weaker for your compassion and thus easily manipulated because of it." His wand flicks toward the man at her side, sending him flying backwards.

Luckily, he was prepared for the attack and staggers to his feet, casting spell after spell at the dangerous man. The maiden, still piecing everything together, stares at the duel and struggles to work out what she can do.

The man who had raised her – and tormented her and tricked her for entire life – was advancing on the man who vowed to love her and care for her – with the added notion of being her soulmate to prove himself – and it wasn't until a green spark left the end of Lord Voldemort's wand that the young maiden realizes what she has to do.

She dives in the line of fire, throwing out her arms to deflect the curse and although it still strikes her core, it also rebounds to the caster. The man lies as lifeless on the forest floor as the young maiden, and the prince hurries to her side, utterly distraught.

"_No!_"

He picks her up, cradling her in his arms and holds her to his chest. "No, no, no." He brushes her wild curls away from her face, cupping her cheek and rubbing his thumb across her cheekbone. "Please, Moonlight, please," he begs, grey eyes flickering to the ominous onyx stone on her finger. "Come back to me," he murmurs, burying his face in her neck an inhaling the sweet scent of gardenias. "Come back to me…"

* * *

_What the young prince didn't know was that the Resurrection Stone requires time, especially when the cause of death is especially powerful or traditionally irreversible. The young maiden's body was not merely unbreaking bones or replenishing blood, it was mending her soul._

_The maiden was returned to the kingdom of magic with her beloved, Prince Draco, and the entire kingdom mourned for seven days and seven nights as her sacrifice from the malevolent lord was honored. On the morning of the seventh day of her apparent death, the young prince went to her chambers and sat beside her bed._

_He refused to leave her side the entire week, but that morning was especially the hardest as it was the longest any witch or wizard believed the magic of the stone to be useful. How could it possibly still bring her back after all this time? They would say. She must be gone, young prince. Let her go. _

_But Draco refused. He rubbed and rubbed at the black gem gleaming ominously on her delicate, pale fingers in the hopes that something would happen._

* * *

The young maiden spent a questionable amount of time lost in a dark abyss deep within her mind, but after a long while, she finally saw a door and as her curiosity always got the better of her, she went through it without hesitation.

"Oh, my," a woman cooed upon her entrance. "You are so beautiful, and all grown up."

Beside the woman stands a lanky man with short brown curls swept carelessly out of his thin-framed face. He looks down at the woman tearing up in his arms, then smiles shyly at the young maiden.

"Hello," he greets.

She blinks, "Who are you? Do I know you?"

"No, no," the man shakes his head as the woman stifles a quiet sob. "Unfortunately, you know us no more than we know you. You were taken from us far too young."

The girl chews at her bottom lip, eying the polite couple with open skepticism. They stand in an all-white oblivion which seems about as strange as the interaction.

"Father?" She ventures, and when the man nods, her gaze slides over to the teary woman who is undeniably her direct relation upon closer inspection. "Mother?"

"Yes," she chokes.

The man rubs her shoulders affectionately. "I'm afraid we don't have a lot of time," he tells her with a sorrowful smile. "I wish we did, but you do need to be returning to life any minute if you have any inclination to do so."

"Oh," the maiden nods. "Right." She feels a bittersweet smile pull at her lips. "Will I see you there? This is just a figment of my imagination, correct?"

"No, my daughter." He laments, and the woman buries herself in his neck, shoulders shaking with each racking sob. "We are long dead. The evil man who stole you from us came back some years later to tie of that particular frayed string in his plan."

"I'm sorry," she replies despairingly.

"No matter. Go on and live a long and happy life now, you deserve it. We'll be here when it's over."

The maiden turns to leave, seeing a new door, glowing with potential and life, appear to her left. "Wait," she turns to see the couple one more time – quickly etching their faces into her memory – and blinks at them, nervous. "What is my name?"

The woman, her mother, wipes a tear away from the corner of her eye and steps forward to embrace her daughter. The man, her actual father, does the same. He backs away to let the mother cup a frail hand around her daughter's cheek.

"Hermione," the woman informs her. "Your name is Hermione Jean Granger, and we love you."

Before the young maiden, Hermione, can tell them how she loves them and how she has always longed to know them, the glowing door bursts open and swallows her up.

* * *

_The princess awoke from her deep slumber and embraced firstly by her beloved and betrothed, and then by her kingdom as they rejoiced in the magic of the Hallows for bringing her back to them. _

_There was no body ever recovered from the forest of the evil lord which made Princess Hermione and Prince Draco especially anxious, and so they agreed that they would continue searching for him and in the meantime, she would not take of the ring he had gifted her. _

_However, the rest of the kingdom's people were elated to have the young royal couple alive and well and together. They celebrated for nearly an entire fortnight and showered them in gifts and affection. Even the king and queen were delighted to welcome a new daughter, and after her true identity was revealed, they were adamant about implementing new measures tying the muggle and magical world together so that another child would never be lost to the dangerous grey area between the two._

_The prince enlightened his beloved that she was not cursed after all. The imperius curse inflicted by the lord who kidnapped her had taken the form of a demon in her mind and while it had tormented her for nineteen long years, he promised he would never let her suffer another day because of it._

* * *

"Are you ready?" Draco asks her as he steps into the spacious bedchamber. The light catches his golden hair, illuminating it brilliantly as well as the beam stretching across his beautiful complexion.

Hermione returns his wide smile with ease, finding her days of recent to be much more lovely and full of happiness. "Of course," she replies, placing a sweet kiss on his lips and reveling in the taste of mint that was so _him_. "It's hard to believe the day is here already."

He smirks at her, tugging at the white lace hanging off of her shoulders. "We can always postpone it and find something else to do today?"

She laughs and pushes him playfully away, "We've waited this long, Draco, surely you can wait a few more hours?"

He shrugs, still toying with the fine, rich material.

Hermione sighs, her hands tugging at his blond hair, bringing his face down to hers and taking his next breath in hers. "I can't wait either, but we must."

"I suppose," Draco laments. Then he sighs and backs away from her with great effort and holds out his arm for her to take. "Come along then. The church awaits, and God is not very fond of tardiness from what I'm told."

"Oh, is that so?" She challenged, smirking up at her love.

"Yes," he places a quick kiss on her jaw, "It is so. And also…"

She blinks up at him, "Yes?"

"I love you, my moonlight," he says, bending to brush his lips against hers.

Hermione sighs into his mouth, curling her fingers around his, "As I love you, my golden boy."

_The End…_

* * *

**A/N - **I hope you enjoyed this one, I know it wasn't very fluffy, but the surprise I have planned for December will be! Also, I have expanded _The Malfoy Theory _to include a prequel as well as a sequel and I will let you, my humble readers, decide which you would like to have posted first - leave a review/PM for your choice. Note: Both will be posted after the December surprise so do not fret, it is just a matter of which you want to have first. Thank you, as always xx


	15. All The Things, Part I

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part I**_

_Rating: _M for language and eventual sex

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger end up in the most precarious and ill-fated circumstance five years after the war: they become roommates.

WELCOME TO MY VERY FIRST ADVENT! From now until Christmas, there will be a short/ish post (1-1.5k) every day as a gift from me to you. I hope you enjoy it! Despite the title, this is Dramione fluff with a decidedly happy ending because I am Dramione AND Christmas trash.

* * *

_#1 You are incurably bossy_

* * *

Draco strode into the break room and upon seeing a particular bushy head of hair immediately started to turn around and forego the idea of tea altogether. Much to his dismay, however, the person she was talking to gestured wildly over her frizzy curls for him to join their conversation.

"Oi, Draco!" Theo shouted.

He repressed a groan and sauntered up to the two of them, pointedly ignoring Granger's indignant pout.

"Theo," he said between gritted teeth. "Granger,"

"Malfoy," she huffed.

"Granger was just telling me - " Theo began.

"Since when are you two friends?" Draco interrupted. "Aren't you supposed to be sworn enemies or something of the sort? Isn't it written into a law somewhere?"

Theo was a solicitor, mostly representing those who had every intention of getting away with the crime they'd been accused of, while Granger was firmly on the other end of the law spectrum, defending every living creature until her dying breath and hailing about their rights from the rooftops.

Draco knew they spent a lot of time in front of the Wizengamot together from hearing their bickering echoing through their shared floor in the Ministry. Luckily, he was hardly ever involved with whatever antics they unearthed.

He was but a glorified paper-pusher, which he mostly attributed to no one in his department trusting him enough to do higher-profile cases. Not that he had any interest in climbing the corporate ladder; at least not _that _ladder, anyway. Working in the Ministry had been more for the positive effect it had on his ruined reputation after the war and less for the job description.

"Yes. We are enemies," Theo shrugged.

"In a matter of speaking," Granger added, also shrugging as if this information was common knowledge. "Though, we are also friends."

"True," Theo agreed.

"Makes sense," Draco said, though he wasn't entirely sure it did. "How exactly?"

"We have few things in common, as I imagine is the case for most bases of friendship." Granger remarked. "Though if you're interested in how we came about recognizing such a thing, I suppose it started when Nott realized that all lives matter not just those belonging to humans,"

Draco, unsure of whether or not he was following her, glanced back and forth between them.

"What?"

"I joined Spew," Theo supplied quickly.

"S.P.E.W." Granger amended, swatting Theo lightly but narrowly missing as he dodged the effort, appearing as though it was something, he did so often he began to predict them.

"Right, that's what I said."

"No, it's not," she rolled her eyes.

"ANYWAY," he went on, cheerily. "Granger was just telling me she's looking for a new place to live now that She-Weasel signed on with the Harpies and since I'm - "

Draco, already having a terrible feeling of where this conversation was going to go, cut in. "Absolutely not."

"Great," he beamed.

"No," Draco groaned, realizing the trap he'd fallen into. "Absolutely _not_. Not, _absolutely,_ Nott,"

"What?" Hermione interjected.

Theo ignored her, facing Draco with an arched dark brow and thinly pressed lips.

"What else do you plan on doing?"

"Anything else!" Draco half-shouted.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy." Granger said haughtily. "I can't afford a place by myself and you have a spare bedroom, now." She waved toward Theo, who grinned and nodded toward him with an air of, _It's true, you do._

"This is a terrible idea," he stated. "One of us will probably end up dead,"

"That's the spirit!" Theo exclaimed, then nudged Granger. "That's as good of an agreement that you'll get out of him."

"Brilliant," she said, her tone void of any sarcasm, surprisingly him. Then, she turned from Theo to him with a taunting smirk, "Roommates?"

_Fuuuuuuuuuuck noooooooo_.

"Fine," he said gruffly.

Which is how, two weeks later, Theo levitated the remainder of his boxes out of Draco's flat and across the hall into one he now shared with Daphne, and Granger levitated her boxes and furniture into Draco's flat.

She directed a light grey sofa into the sitting room, embellishing it with an ugly knit throw.

"Oh, fuck no," he said, shaking his head in disgust at the woollen blanket.

"What?" She said, flattening it and adding several tiny pillows. "It was a gift from Mrs. Weasley,"

"It's hideous."

"It was hand-knit!"

"I don't care," he sniffed. "It's not staying."

She crossed her arms, "Well, I like it, so I say it is."

"It's my flat, so I say it's not."

"It's _our_ flat now, Malfoy." She pushed passed him to continue unpacking her stuff into the empty bedroom pointedly.

He groaned and trailed after her, "Why do you have to be so difficult, Granger?"

"I'm not being difficult," she countered. "You're being impossible. It's just a blanket, Malfoy."

"It's _ugly_ and it completely clashes with the rest of the room!"

Her hair fell loose from the bun unevenly knotted at the top of her head, and the old Hogwarts shirt she wore looked as if it had been through the wash ten times too many.

"Since when did you care about interior design?"

"Since I was raised to have _refined taste_," he retorted frustratingly. "Not to mention I have two perfectly working eyes!"

"Well, tough luck, Malfoy. It's staying whether you like it or not."

For the next few days, Granger continued to unpack her things and Malfoy continued to _misplace_ the ugly throw in various places around the flat before he went to work in the mornings. Unfortunately, no matter how clever he was about hiding it, she always found it and displayed it against the sofa proudly by the time he got home in the evenings.

_Fucking hell_, he groaned internally.

In attempt to retaliate, he placed a posh new sofa set in the sitting room with skilfully styled pillows – no more than two on either corner because he wasn't a lunatic like she was – as well as a beautiful cashmere throw on top of the centre sofa. Then, he moved hers into the corner of her bedroom, relocating the knit monstrosity with it.

He was sitting at the kitchen bar, sipping quietly at his tea, when she came home and noticed what he'd done.

"MALFOY," she shrieked from the other room.

"Yes?" He called back, as innocently as he could.

Granger stormed into the kitchen with an accusatory glare, daggers aimed at him.

"Put my sofa back." She demanded.

"No," he took a long sip, "Shan't."

"How very _dare _you - "

"Calm down, Granger, it's just a sofa set. Besides, mine is much nicer and more accommodating for company."

"Fine. Then, move mine into that corner," she gestured to an empty corner where he'd placed a rather wilted-looking houseplant.

"Why should I?"

"Because," Granger argued through gritted teeth, her face flushed. "It goes with the _aesthetic_ of that corner of the flat AND it's far too bare in that corner."

She had a point. Not that he planned on conceding to it.

"No," he shrugged. "Tough luck, Granger."

"Malfoy,"

"Granger,"

"Move it."

"No."

"MOVE IT MALFOY OR I SWEAR - "

"WHAT? YOU SWEAR WHAT, HM?"

"GAH! YOU'RE IMPOSSIBLE!"

"NO, _YOU_ ARE!"

"MALFOY,"

"GRANGER,"

They stared each other down for several seconds, but ultimately, he gave in. The fucking _nerve_ she has. Whatever, perhaps tomorrow he'd set her knit abomination on fire just for fun and see what she thinks of that.

* * *

**A/N - **Dedicated to the lovely _jacpin2002_ for always putting a smile on my face!


	16. All The Things, Part II

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part II**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 2.

* * *

_#2 You hog the telly_

* * *

The smell of popcorn wafted through the kitchen as the timer went off. Draco happily levitated the steaming bag into the living room and began his weekly Monday night routine: prep the telly snack, assemble the comfy throw, turn off the lights, turn on the telly, and enjoy his favourite series.

He had just turned on the telly when Granger came bursting into the living room. Her hair was even bushier than usual and the frantic look in her eyes only got worse as she took in his set up on the sofa.

"Oh, thank _god_! I thought you were going to be using that," she said gesturing to the television before falling into the cushion beside him.

"I _am_ using it!" He declared, flicking his wand to select the newest episode of the series.

"Oh, please, Malfoy," Granger scoffed. "It's Bachelor night."

She flicked her wand to change the channel to something called _Bachelor in Paradise_.

"What in Salazar's name is this fuckery?"

She levitated her own blanket onto her lap from across the room, then leaned over to snag a handful of his popcorn.

"HEY," he protested. "GET YOUR OWN BLOODY POPCORN,"

"I don't have time. The show is starting."

"Oh, about that," he said in a calmer tone.

"Yes?" She asked, sparing him a glance as the opening credits rolled.

"GET YOUR OWN BLOODY TELLY TOO! THIS IS _MY_ MONDAY NIGHT THING!"

She shrugged, turning her attention back to the gorgeous cast on the screen.

"Eh, not anymore."

He glowered at her, then grimaced at the hot, scantily clad couple outrageously flirting with one another.

"What is this rubbish?"

"The most addicting, conniving rubbish ever to grace television. It's a guilty pleasure. I mean, truly, I don't even like to acknowledge that this series exists, much less that I watch it, but _fuck_ _it_. We're roommates now, so you might as well get used to it." She said.

He inhaled sharply, clutching his chest with an aristocratic air of offense for dramatic effect,

"USED TO IT?"

"Yeah," she replied barely paying attention to him anymore as something evidently interesting was beginning to happen in the show. "It's on multiple times a week,"

"IT'S WHAT – Wait – What is he doing? Wasn't he just snogging that tall blonde?"

Granger nodded, taking another handful and narrowly avoiding Draco's attempt to slap her hand away. "Yes."

"Then, why? – Whoa – Now _they're_ snogging? What is happening?"

"So many things," she grinned mischievously.

Draco watched in horror as the most captivating and appalling drama unfolded in front of him. He watched as one so-called couple broke up, another formed, someone got cheated on, another claimed it wasn't exclusive, three women cried, and two dudes nearly punched each other over the course of an hour or so.

By the end of it, he found himself screaming at the television with as much enthusiasm as Granger.

"_Ok, Amanda, who do you want to give your rose to?" _

Granger squealed, "Oh, she's totally going to give it to Derek!"

"What?" He shouted, taking a handful from the new bag of popcorn sitting in her lap. "No way. She's going to give it to Mark."

"Want to bet?"

"Depends, what do I get it when I win?"

She scoffed, "You mean _if_ you win, Malfoy."

"No," he grinned a mean, little grin. "I meant what I said."

Granger rolled her eyes, "You won't win, so it doesn't matter. But _if_ you do, then you get… I don't know, bragging rights?"

Draco didn't know why that made him deflate a little inside, but he shrugged, accepting the offer. "That'll do,"

"Great, now SHUT UP,"

They both directed their attention back to the screen where a tall brunette with too-symmetrical facial features had paused for several minutes of dramatic, drawn out silence where the camera panned back and forth to the two remaining men for selection. The loser – the one she didn't give her red rose to – would get kicked off their slightly-incestuous love island or whatever.

Draco may deny it until his dying breath… no, he would deny it well into his grave… but he not only understood this horrible series but had also become _invested_ in it no thanks to the bushy-haired swot beside him.

"… _Mark, will you accept this rose?"_

"HA!" He swatted at her arm repeatedly, "I was RIGHT,"

"You absolute co - "

"Hey now, Granger, there's no need to be vile."

She crossed her arms, "How did you know what I was going to say next was vile?"

He arched a single, blond brow at her stupid, adorable pouting face.

"Was it?"

"_Maybe_,"

He smirked knowingly.

After a moment of silence, he spoke up again in a light, innocent tone.

"Hey Granger?"

She balled up the popcorn bag, shouted "_Kobe!"_ as she threw it, punched the air when it landed in the bin, then looked over at him suspiciously.

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"How does it feel?"

Amazingly, she fell for it. Her brows furrowed.

"How does what feel?"

"TO BE WRONG." He taunted, leaning against the kitchen counter and bowing his head slightly so that it was not far from hers. "How does it feel to be wrong, Granger? Does your swotty brain even understand what defeat feel like? Because it feels like this," – he gestured to her general existence – "Do you feel it now? Do you feel it?"

She groaned.

"Listen, Spongebob - "

"Who?"

She waved him away, "Never mind. Just… Never mind."

He shrugged, chancing her weird phrases and whatnot to her abnormal muggle upbringing.

Last week, he had deigned to press her further on what she meant when she said _"That ain't not my job!" _when he told her it was her turn to clean the floo, but he hadn't felt self-loathing enough to endure her confusing explanations since.

Granger headed to her bedroom, and he headed to his but a minute later an enchanted paper airplane landed itself in his lap.

_Same time tomorrow night. If you wanted to watch the next episode._

He quickly scribbled his reply then sent it back.

_I can't promise I'll think about it but… If I have nothing better to do. _

Draco smiled to himself when he heard a muffled laugh coming from her room followed by the crumpling up of paper, the muted shout of _"Kobe!"_ and lastly a dejected, _"Fuck,"_ followed by some ruffling and light stomping.

Perhaps, Granger wouldn't be such a terrible roommate after all.

Immediately after having that thought, however, Draco shuddered theatrically.

* * *

**A/N - **This one is dedicated to _VeraDeDiamant_

**Edit 26/1/2020: **Today, my heart hurts. Kobe Bryant (41) died in a helicopter crash with one of his daughters, Gianna (13). It was only a few weeks ago that I wrote this and threw in one of my favorite things to do: toss crumpled up paper into the bin and shout, "Kobe!". I can't wrap my head around this tragic news and wanted to share it with you all because Kobe was bigger than just basketball. He was a phenomenal role model, father, and person. May he and his daughter rest in peace, and may his wife Vanessa and three other daughters find strength in such a devastating time. As for the other passengers on the helicopter (a teammate of Gianna's and both of her parents - leaving two other children behind - as well as the pilot) rest in peace. The point I would like you to take away from this - hopefully Kobe would agree - that the entire generation, or anyone else, not let the simple act of tossing rubbish in the bin and shouting, "Kobe!" be lost. Cherish his memory. Let the legacy he left, live on. Also, for anyone turning 24 this year (including me, a 1996 baby) celebrate your Kobe year to its fullest. Most importantly, hug your loved ones and tell them how much you love and value them because life is not guaranteed.

Thank you xx


	17. All The Things, Part III

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part III**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 3.

* * *

_#3 Your birthday_

* * *

Draco stumbled into the flat with the grace of a new-born giraffe, knocking over several decorative fixtures as he made his way through the foyer and into the sitting room. He blinked through his semi-blurry vision to see Granger and her massive, unruly curls taking up the other half of the sofa.

"Malfoy, are you _pissed_?" She gaped.

He blinked.

"Possibly. Why?"

"It's – It's not even four in the afternoon!"

He squinted at her, unable to register why her voice was so unreasonably shrill.

"Granger, you're _here_," – he motioned above his head – "and I'm going to need you to bring it down to _here_." He lowered his hand considerably low, as low as he could reach without losing his balance.

"Malfoy, what even - "

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, WOMAN?" He rubbed his temples, feeling the buzz start to wear off. "It's _Friday_." She stared blankly at him. "Fuck, Granger. Happy hour? No? Cool, cool. You need to get out more,"

She grimaced at him, then replied primly, "Not everyone dreams of getting irresponsibly drunk every weekend."

"I don't do it _every_ weekend, that's absurd. But we were celebrating, Theo did… something, I don't know exactly but he was buying sooooo," Draco shrugged.

Then, he sat up quickly and stared at her wide-eyed, noting the novel in her hand and the worn pair of leggings.

"Wait," he squinted at her, accusingly pointing a finger at her lack of evening dress. "Isn't it your bloody _birthday_?" He vaguely remembered Theo drawing a terrible rendition of a cake and balloons besides a voluminous head of curls on today's date in the breakroom calendar.

"Yes," she drawled, narrowing her eyes at him. Possibly correctly predicting what he was about to say.

Though, in his defence, he wasn't even sure what he was about to say until it came out. He blamed the slight intoxication.

"YOU HAVE TO GO OUT,"

"Err,"

"NO," He stood up, blinked as the room spun for a minute, then steadied. "YOU _HAVE _TO."

"Malfoy, I don't - "

"No, no. Come on, Granger. Do something _fun_ and _debauched_ for once!" He angled himself toward the front door, swung it open and then promptly banged on the door across the hall. "NOTT! GREENGRASS!"

Theo's head popped out with a quizzical brow, "What? Did you lock yourself out again?"

Somehow Theo sounded much too sober for how many drinks they'd just consumed in the course of one short afternoon.

"No," he pursed his lips. "Get Greengrass over here, will you? Granger needs help."

"What?" He blinked, disbelieving.

Draco groaned, "Listen, Granger is coming out with us tonight, ok? So, send Daph over here to help her get ready or whatever while we pick up some new bottles and mixers."

He didn't wait to hear what Theo said next, and instead abruptly turned and charged back into the flat with a renewed energy and booming voice, "GRANGER TURN ON THE SOUND SYSTEM – YES, BLAST IT – NO, ABSOLUTELY NO MUGGLE SHI – WHAT DID I _JUST_ SAY – Oh, wait. Yes. I like this one – _I need a one daaaaaance, got a Hennessey in my haaaaand_…"

Which is how, many hours later, all four of them were leaping around his flat screaming lyrics to various genres at the top of their lungs, pausing to chug copious amounts of poorly mixed drinks.

"Oh, _shit_!" Granger yelped, nearly falling off of the sofa she had been jumping on.

Draco managed to catch her in his arms, letting his drink levitate to the right of his head and silently congratulating himself on not spilling any of it in the process.

"Careful, Granger," he laughed into her bushy hair.

She inhaled sharply, leaned away from him enough to stand on her own feet and meet his face with a wide, nervous grin.

"Godric, I don't think I'm going to make it to the bar. I'm so drunk already,"

He shook his head violently, "Oh, no. No, no, no. We're going! You're not bailing now!"

"But - "

Daphne came stumbling over to them with a tray full of shots and Theo mischievously smiling behind her.

"SHOT FOR THE ROAD!"

Draco reluctantly took two of them, shoving one into Granger's hands.

"Take it,"

"Malfoy," she started to whine.

"Not up for debate, Granger. Take it." He downed his quickly, then gestured for her to do the same.

"Ugh, fine," she swallowed the burning liquid with difficulty, then winced.

"Come on, let's go!" Theo said, punching Draco in the stomach and causing him to double over. "TIME TO GET FUCKED UP IN THE CLUB!"

"_Club_?" Granger squealed.

"SHOT FOR THE ROAD!" Daphne cheered, shoving another one in everyone's hands.

"Another one?" Granger asked, grimacing.

"ANOTHER ONE!"

The club was dark with various lights streaming and strobing around them; the bass so loud and violating that Draco had no choice but to dance along to whatever song blared through the speakers.

He felt the alcohol start to wear off, unfortunately, causing him to feel suddenly inconceivably exhausted. It was something that was to be expected seeing as he started drinking _hours_ ago.

But when he saw the stupid, drunken grin on Granger's flushed face, he felt one spreading across his lips too. The next song was one of her favourites apparently (she had grabbed him by the wrist and shouted at him in a slur "THIS IS MY FAVOURITE. I LOVE THIS SONG.") which brought him an unexpected surge of energy as she turned rapidly and backed up into him.

He blacked out for a nanosecond.

Her arse.

_Granger's_ arse.

It was on him. It was _on_ him. It was on _him_.

She was moving, swaying her hips violently to the beat of the bass and whipping her sweat-soaked curls back and forth in front of him.

Instinctually, his hands found her hips. His fingers dug into the sliver of skin showing between her top and jeans. Her hands lifted to wrap around his neck, dragging his head low enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. She was panting, dancing furiously against him.

Cruel and unrelenting.

Draco swallowed, trying to clear the dryness in the back of his throat.

What was she doing to him? Did she even know the effect she had on him? Draco knew it was only Granger and that he shouldn't have this murderous heart pace simply because she was dancing on him. Grinding on him.

But then again, he was also a guy and… well…

She smelled so good. Delicious. Like cotton candy and bad decisions.

Draco suddenly desperately wanted to know what her lips tasted like.

The next song, of course, did little to help him think of anything (literally _anything_) else. Granger kept grinding on him, with a skill he would have never expected from someone as swotty as her, yet there they were.

The music continued to echo in his ears, _"Taste, taste. She could get a taste. Let you get a taste. Do you love the taste? Taste, taste."_

It really shouldn't have surprised either of them, then, with what happened next.

He loosened his grip on her waist to spin her in his arms, then pressed her chest to his by the small of her back. Her breath tickled his throat, and he dipped his head lower. Her hands wound into his hair, slick at the roots.

His breath was on hers, their lips so close to touching that he could feel every traitorous cell in his body buzzing with anticipation. His mind filled with endless possibilities of what would come next.

However, he was rudely interrupted as the song changed again to one that caused her to be pulled away by Daphne with a drunken squeal.

Draco momentarily considered murdering her, but then blinked and checked himself.

What had just been about to happen? What the _fuuuuuuuuuuck_?

"IT'S YOUR SONG!" Daphne wailed, pulling Granger into her and grinding with her.

Draco blinked again.

He locked eyes with Theo, whose eyes were glinting something devilish in the strobe light as he raised his drink to him. Draco took in the two girls dancing vivaciously with each other and amended his previous thoughts on Daphne to indebted ones. He mentally recorded this image for later.

The two of them starting scream-singing as loud as they could, and Draco laughed at how horribly off-pitch they both were.

"GO SHAWTY," Granger sang.

Greengrass took up the next line, "IT'S YO BIRTHDAY, WE GOING TO PARTY LIKE IT'S YO BIRTHDAY!"

Theo winked at Draco, handing him another drink before moving in to spin Greengrass away from Granger and into himself, shouting the next part. "WE GOING TO SIP BACARDI LIKE IT'S YO BIRTHDAY!"

Granger laughed, then looked over to him with her impossibly large brown eyes, waiting for him to join in.

Draco pulled her back to him, their hips pressed up against the other. Then, he leaned down to sweep away the curls that stuck to her neck and brush his lips against it as he sang along, "_And you know we don't give a fuck 'cause it's yo birthday_,"

The goosepimples he felt rise on her skin in response caused a dangerous smile to flash across his whiskey-soaked lips.

* * *

**A/N - **This one is dedicated to _nerdalertwarning _for her wonderful theory on _The Art is Betrayal. _To _VeraDeDiamant _\- Yes exactly! We all have our guilty pleasure television that brings us together, thanks for the lovely review!


	18. All The Things, Part IV

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part IV**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 4.

* * *

_#4 Your inability to handle your liquor_

* * *

"Oh, god," Granger moaned.

Draco let his hands trail along her bare spine, brushing quickly over the clasp on her bra and taking deep, desperate inhales and exhales.

She tipped her head back, the sweat pooling along her temples and the back of her neck, and her eyes settled lazily on his with a look of utter bemoaning.

"Malfoy,"

He immediately desisted his movement along her shoulder blades and took her head between her hands, giving her a soft smile.

"Granger," he sighed. "You don't have to do this,"

"No," she remarked, shaking her head out of his grasp, "I want to. I _need _to."

"Alright," he nodded.

Granger looked away from him, then braced herself around the open toilet and continued to dry heave into it. She insisted that if she kept up this tiresome attempt to rid herself of the toxic substance tearing apart her liver, that she would feel better.

Draco had already spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to convince her otherwise, so he thought at this point why bother. He had insisted she just take a potion to sober herself up and rehydrate before going to sleep, but she practically hexed him on the spot.

If the woman wanted to do something abhorrently Gryffindor, then so be it. Who was he to stop her?

Now, he pulled her hair back into a hideous excuse for a ponytail, trying to wrangle the wayward curls into submission was quite nearly impossible, and wiped at her feverish body with a damp cloth.

"You know," he smirked, sitting beside her on the uncomfortable tile floor. "I didn't expect a swot like you to go so hard. Actually, I didn't expect you to come out at all."

She shot him a grimace, "You _made_ me go out, remember?"

"Well… Yes, obviously. I just figured you'd have some lame plans to hang out with Potter and, you know the other one, instead."

"The other one's name is Ron."

"Don't care," he shrugged. Then, after a long moment of silence, he went on. "Why didn't you? Have plans with them, I mean."

Granger didn't meet his eyes, shrugging. She spat up nothing, then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and leaned back to take a break.

"Godric, I am _never_ drinking that much ever again," she groaned.

He laughed, then thrust a cup of water in her hand.

"Everyone says that, Granger. Odds are you will, though, and soon."

She shuddered.

"At least there's the comfort of knowing I won't remember any of this tomorrow,"

He nodded, "That's probably true. I don't think I'll be granted that luxury,"

Granger gasped with sudden vehemence, then directed her wild eyes towards him as if he was to blame for whatever realization she just had.

"Malfoy, I'm – Where's my top?"

Oh, that. Yes, he was responsible for that. Though, in his defence, she was also to blame.

"You were sick," was all he said, hiding a smile at the instant flush of red that coloured her cheeks.

"Oh, _god_," she groaned. "I'm such a mess."

He smirked, not bothering to stop his gaze from flickering to her tits.

"At least you're a hot mess."

She glared at him, "Malfoy,"

"What?" He chuckled. "I'm just _saying_,"

"Well don't," she snapped, though from the hint of a smile forming on the edge of her lips, he could tell she wasn't all too upset at his commentary.

He made a mental note about that, then internally scolded himself for continuing to indulge his illusion that these thoughts were in any way productive or healthy. It was Granger, after all.

Which must have been exactly what she had been thinking, because a moment later her eyes shot open again and she covered her gaping mouth as she directed another accusatory glance his way.

"What now?" He frowned.

"I – We – Oh, my _god_,"

"Granger, spit it out for fuck's sake,"

"I _danced_ on you…" she finally said.

"Yeah," he nodded smugly.

"We almost _kissed_…"

At her expression, he immediately withheld any further comment; his chest tightened instantly, nervous despite his insistence that it _desist this very fucking moment_.

"Oh," she inhaled, then erupted into a drunken fit of laughter. "I cannot _believe_," she cackled again, gasping for air.

He remained tense.

"Thank Godric that didn't happen! I mean, can you imagine?" She choked.

"Yeah," he added, voice low.

"There's no way that would – We're _roommates _– We have to be friends and that – Well, never mind."

Her giggles dissolved into an amused grin which he found he loathed. But then she launched herself forward and emptied the toxic contents of her stomach into the toilet with horrifyingly disturbing abundance.

Suddenly, Draco believed in karma or some other divinatory fuckery.

Draco wanted to stand up and leave; he wanted to walk away from her and pretend like nothing ever happened, because then, maybe, _just maybe_, it would be fucking true.

Maybe then he wouldn't feel so hurt by her reaction.

Maybe then he wouldn't feel so hurt by _her_.

Instead, to not even his own surprise at this point, he wiped the hair back from her face and held it with one fist, trailing soft fingers along her bare back with the other. He whispered little encouragements into her ear.

When she was done, and thoroughly showered while he dutifully kept his eyes shut at her request, Draco deposited her gently into her own bed, tucking the covers around her shivering body.

The hangover she would suffer tomorrow would be punishment enough, he thought, there was no need for him to be especially nasty to her tonight. Besides, it wasn't like she would remember any of this anyway.

"Malfoy," she murmured.

He swallowed, then turned towards her door, willing himself to leave.

However, when her voice called out for him again, he sighed and went to kneel beside her once more.

"Granger?"

"I'm freezing," she complained, her eyes firmly shut.

He cast another warming spell over her, "How's that?"

"That's fine…" Granger sighed. "Will you stay with me, though?"

"_What_?"

"Stay with me,"

Her voice was steadier, more insistent.

He just stared at her.

"Weren't you just saying how glad you were that we didn't - "

"Yes, yes." She said, cutting him off. Her eyes opened, peeking up at him with their large, brown innocence. "I know what I said. But, this is… different. It would be just sleeping."

He blinked.

She shifted to the other side of the bed, and he climbed in reluctantly. He remained stubbornly still, not willing to touch her lest she mutter about how silly this was or laugh and tell him it was all a joke, that she'd been messing with him.

Instead, Granger wrapped her little arms around him and snuggled into him. He stiffened at first, then relaxed into her; Draco brushed at her hair, quickly busying himself with detangling the detestable curls.

"We're roommates," she murmured into the nape of his neck. "We're friends, in a way. A weird sort of way. That's all this is."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more," she confirmed.

And, just like that, Draco found himself uniquely upset and irreparably attached.

* * *

**A/N - **This one is for _CocoaMoon _for her wonderful Kobe acknowledgment and joke! To _jacpin2002_ \- Thank you for the commentary on my tidbits of (attempted) irreverent humor. I'm so glad it's appreciated xx


	19. All The Things, Part V

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part V**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 5.

* * *

_#5 Your abominable hair gets everywhere_

* * *

"GRANGER!"

There was a muffled response coming from the other side of the flat.

"GRANGER!"

This time, there was no response.

Draco found himself stomping across the flat to her room with his wand levitating the monstrosity that he'd found in the shower drain that morning.

"Granger," he seethed. "What the _bloody_ _hell_ is this?"

She emerged from her closet and Draco immediately covered his eyes with one hand, then tightened his grip on the towel around his waist with the other.

"Fucking hell! Put some clothes on, would you?"

She reached for a robe, wrapping it around herself, then sighed. "There. You can look now, Malfoy, though I don't understand why you're being so childish. It's not like you haven't seen a naked woman before." Then she paused. "Unless..."

He groaned, "_Don't_."

She shrugged, smirking mercilessly at him.

"Whatever, Malfoy. You don't see me losing my mind over your very naked torso." She said, eying him as she perched casually on the edge of her bed.

It was true, they saw more of each other's bodies over the past few weeks than what was typically seen as acceptable; especially for someone of the opposite gender of which one was decidedly _not _fucking. Granger had often chopped it up to her ridiculous notion that since they were roommates it was perfectly normal.

Draco, having no choice in the matter, tried his best not to physically react to this fact. When he did, however, since some things just couldn't be avoided, thankfully the thought of Theo's dads' bollocks typically came to his rescue.

They did so now as he flicked his wand and the mass of hair aimed itself toward Granger. She expertly avoided it, sending it directly into the bin with a swish of her own wand.

"What's the matter?" She demanded. "Why were you screeching?"

"_That's_ the matter," he said, pointing at her bin. "What is it doing in the shower drain?"

She shrugged, "Must have forgotten to dispose of it this time."

He crossed his arms over his – arguably very prominent – chest and huffed.

"Like how you forgot to dispose of the ones littering our living room floor as well?"

"It happens. I'll work on improving my charms for the drain if it makes you feel better."

"Yes." He spat. "Thank you, that would be _extremely_ useful seeing as I can't even walk around this bloody flat without finding one attached to me!"

She rolled her eyes, "Malfoy… It's just _hair_."

"It's _gross_!"

She sighed, then stood and dropped her robe theatrically on the floor.

"GAH!"

He immediately lifted his hands to cover his eyes and, in the moment, forgot to prioritize the towel wrapped around his waist, resulting in it falling around his ankles.

Granger let out a low whistle.

He flushed, then lifted the towel and sent a hex in her direction. Due to his haste, however, she was able to dismantle it and saunter off into her closet.

Draco stalked moodily out of the room, swearing under his breath. Behind him, Granger shouted, "NICE BUM," as he aimed himself toward what would now be a very cold shower in order to clear his thoughts.

That woman was going to be the death of him, surely.

That evening, Granger sent him an apology note along with a doodle of her setting various dust-bunnies of hair on fire. As he finished reading it, he looked up to her poking her head into his room.

The mischievous, pleading smile evident of what she wanted.

"Really?" He sighed.

She bit her lip and nodded.

He gave in.

He always did.

That evening, like most since the nights were getting colder and colder, he found himself wrapped around Granger, her warmth lulling him quickly to sleep.

Sometimes he was the big spoon, cocooning around her and pulling her closely to him. His knees bent behind hers, his hips cleverly angled so that his inevitable boner would not be detectable to her, and his face pressed into her hair. With every breath, a single strand would lodge itself into his mouth.

How fucking intrusive and infatuating.

Sometimes (most of the time) he was the little spoon, with Granger's arms hugging him to her with unconscious ferocity. Those nights, he barely moved because her body – her every limb – prevented him from doing so. Her arms wrapped around his neck, his torso or his arms. Her legs intertwined with his, hooking him into place.

They traded off whose bed they stayed in.

Tonight, it was his.

He knew what that meant, and he despised it.

It meant that when the alarm went off, he would wake to find one bushy-haired witch missing from between his sheets; from between his limbs.

He would wake and he would stumble into the kitchen to see her preparing their morning cups of tea as she hummed along to whichever song was her current favourite (tomorrow it would probably be _Miss Independent_ since she seemed to be going through a Kelly phase that week).

Draco would sip his tea quietly and politely.

Internally though, he would be screaming at her. Willing her to explain herself, to explain how she could be so comfortable with him – so close to him – and then continue their life as roommates as if _nothing_ was wrong. As if she were totally unaffected.

He would think, _How dare you sleep with me like that! How dare you fucking _hold_ me like that! How dare you fucking _insist_ that we do that!_

He would nod and smile as she chatted about her current case at the office, or how irritating Theo was being in court, and he would take it.

All the while, he was internally shouting, _How dare you act like you don't care! How _dare _you! I slept like a baby, I _always_ sleep like a fucking baby and how very dare you, Granger!_ _Do you know how good it feels to fall asleep in your arms and feel whole and loved and then wake up AND IT'S ALL GONE – YOU'RE GONE – like a bloody joke, like a fucking dream and HOWDAREYOU!_

He hated it.

He hated her.

Ok, no he didn't... but _still._

* * *

**A/N - **This one is for _pinkypinkypinky _because "Poor Draco" is far too accurate for this chapter as well. No worries, fluff will prevail x


	20. All The Things, Part VI

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part VI**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 6.

* * *

_#6 You won the costume contest_

* * *

"UGH!"

Draco looked up from his novel to see Granger crumpling up an owl and then hurling it into the fireplace with a hiss of, "_Kobe!"_. She grumbled under her breath as she plopped down on the sofa besides him.

He sighed, knowing asking what the matter was would probably result in a lengthy rant with far too many adverbs than he particularly cared for but asked anyway.

"What the fuck is wrong?"

She shot him a glare that softened into a pitiful pout.

"It's Ron,"

He recognized the contempt in her voice and opted to ignore it.

"Obviously. That nitwit is always doing something wrong. What is it this time?"

"Harry just owled," she huffed. "Apparently Ron and Lavender changed their minds about going to Hogsmeade with him and the others for Halloween."

Draco merely raised a single, silver brow.

"Well, I was supposed to go!" She wailed childishly. "But there's absolutely no way I'm going now, and subjecting myself to watching them snog and grope each other all night?" She grimaced. "No thank you,"

He closed his book, setting it down on the table and regarded her with a wary expression.

"You could always join us," – he nodded to the front door, signalling the inclusion of Theo and Daphne – "and go to Blaise's Halloween party this year."

"Wait, really?"

He shrugged, "Sure. Just don't be all weird about it, ok? It's just an excuse to dress up and get drunk."

He had mostly said that to warn _himself_ not to get all worked up about it, not her. She would get predictably worked up about the party, though for a very different reason.

"Oh, yes! Brilliant!"

She beamed, then immediately stood and wandered toward her room.

"I would've been devastated if I couldn't wear this elaborate Amelia Earhart costume!" She called from the other side of the flat. "I doubt anyone aside from Harry would really appreciate it, but no matter, I spent so much timing charming the little propeller plane to whizz around behind me…"

He stopped listening to her excitedly rant about whoever the fuck she was talking about. He'd gathered that she had planned on being some so-called famous muggle woman from her incessant mutterings the past two weeks throughout the flat, but the rest of the details he hadn't a clue. Not that he particularly cared anyway.

Draco let her go on and on about her costume and didn't say anything until Theo and Daphne showed up in their flat dressed in appropriate costumes for Blaise's theme.

"What are you wearing?" Daphne asked, mostly resisting scrunching her nose at Granger's ensemble. "That's not in theme… is it?" The last of her question was directed to him.

Draco shook his head and enjoyed the immediate colour that rose to Granger's cheeks. She narrowed her eyes at him, silently assuring the inevitable row at pointedly not mentioning such a thing as a theme.

"Theme?" She seethed.

He shrugged and watched as she eyed the assortment of robes that he, Greengrass and Nott wore. "Current Affairs," was all he said to help clue her in.

"FUCK!"

She stomped back into her room and grumbled incoherently though Draco thought it sounded oddly like 'bloody Slytherins' and 'would've been fucking polite to mention'. He snickered, letting his gaze shift from the raucous coming from her room to Theo's tired disapproval.

"What?" He asked the boy innocently.

Theo scoffed, then draped his arm across Daphne's shoulders and walked with her down the hall. Blaise, luckily, only lived a few doors down from them.

Draco blinked several times as Granger's final decision on her last-minute costume; he remained silent until they stood before Blaise's door, decorated with fake blood charmed to ooze down the door and into a pool at their feet.

"How do I look?" She asked him warily.

He bit back any smart-arse retort and gave her a genuine ghost of a smile. "You look good," Then, when she preened a bit, he added, "Blaise will appreciate your twist on his theme."

"WAIT - _WHAT?_"

Once they stepped into his flat though, also decorated in typical Halloween garb, he figured she was able to piece together what he meant quite quickly based on what everyone was wearing.

Pansy stood behind the bar, clad in all black with several enchanted heads, mirroring her own, floating in a line alongside hers in a wonderful representation of a Headline. Blaise was taking a proffered shot from her and downing it between his rouge lips, the blonde curly wig and cat-eyed spectacles nearly falling off as he shot his head back; the green satin dress-suit clung to his figure, rivalling that of his costume's namesake, Rita Skeeter.

Daphne was currently showing off her outfit by revealing a newspaper-printed dress beneath her red robe in what could only be a News Flash. Meanwhile Theo, eager to show off that they had in fact coordinated somewhat, draped a blanket with a single front page blown up to make up its entirety over his shoulders; So, now he was technically wearing more than just his boxer briefs in his depiction of a Cover Story.

Granger, horrified, looked over at him and gestured to his plain, shapeless layered robes.

"What are you supposed to be?"

He summoned a staff that had every day of the week clearly marked on it, and smirked.

"The Daily Prophet,"

Her chin jutted out as her lips pouted in the most adorable way, her anger at misinterpreting the theme making her flush.

Blaise, however, was _thrilled_ with her costume.

"Salazar's balls, that is brilliant!" He pointed at her, his eyes wide, "An _affair_. I think you just won."

"_What?_" Pansy screeched, running over to demand an explanation, followed by Daphne and Theo.

Draco sat back with a drink, watching as his friends fought and fussed over his roommate and her costume. She wore a white satin slip that was doing things to his breathing; her wild curls fell loosely around her face, framing it well while her red lipstick made him very thankful that his own costume was not tight-fitting around his trousers.

Since Blaise was an overexcited host, especially when it came to holidays and themed events, they were all subject to his various drinking games.

Of which Draco had no objection this year.

A drunk Granger was a flirty Granger, he'd learned.

True to form, after the first few rounds of games, Granger was leaning against him for support while she openly bantered with Blaise, flashing a brilliant smile and blinking suggestively under false lashes.

Draco felt himself get a little jealous (a word he loathed having to use) at how little attention he was getting from her. The entire night she'd been flirting and chatting with all of his friends – except Pansy who mainly glowered with her second-place ribbon – and had said little more than ten words to him despite constantly touching him.

There was always a hand, a shoulder, a knee.

It was infuriating…

Granger was doodling something onto Theo's forehead with some kind of temporary ink spell - or at least what he hoped was temporary for Theo's sake based on her crude anatomical drawings - and then teaching it to Daphne between several insurmountable yawns.'

"For fuck's sake Granger," he huffed. "Go to bed."

"Hm," she mumbled, nodding appreciatively. "Brilliant idea," she slurred, reaching out to flick his nose diminutively. "Clever Malfoy."

He narrowly avoided another childlike assault as she fully turned toward him and left the still-unconscious Theo in Daphne's charge. "What the fuck are you - " Draco cut himself off as Granger stifled a massive yawn and curled up under his arm on the sofa. Less than a moment later, she nodded off and slipped into his lap, gripping his thigh and holding it hostage as her pillow.

Draco held his breath; a bubble of fear for disturbing her briefly paralyzed him, making it criminal for him to move, much less exhale.

"What's that noise?" Blaise sniffed, reappearing in the room. His wig was on backwards and his dress-suit was now unbuttoned scandalously low. "Is that - " He paused, listening to the noise suddenly ripping through the quiet of the dead party. "Is Granger _snoring_?" He gasped, choking on laughter.

Draco looked at the sleeping monstrosity in his lap and sighed. He finally let his muscles contract normally since Granger was, in fact, snoring abhorrently loudly and he knew from his experience as her flatmate as well as from countless nights sleeping with her (with her, not _with_ her; the distinction was extremely necessary according to Granger) that once she had reached this state, she was unlikely to be woken to less than the building collapsing around them.

He gingerly lifted her from his lap and bid farewell to Blaise and the others, cradling her in his arms as he crossed the hall and settled her into her bed in their flat.

"Malfoy," she mumbled, and he immediately spun from the doorway to sit beside her on the bed.

"Granger?" He asked tentatively.

Her eyes were glued shut which was... confounding.

"Malfoy," she repeated. There was another sling of murmurs which were inaudible, and he gently nudged her, asking her to speak up. "Malfoy," she swatted blindly, turning over and tangling herself in the sheets. Chopping it up to her state of consciousness, Draco once again turned to leave the room and - for the first time in what felt like a very long time - sleep alone in his own bed.

Granger murmured again in her sleep.

This time, he _did_ catch what she said.

"Malfoy... Don't go - The snitch - Please - Oh, catch it - " and then, "Stay with me."

He sighed.

Draco tucked himself under her sheets, pulling her into his chest and smoothing away frizzed curls from her neck.

"Always," he replied before drifting off to sleep himself.

* * *

**A/N - **This one is dedicated to _LarryFND_! Thank you for all your love on all my works xx


	21. All The Things, Part VII

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part VII**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 7.

* * *

_#7 You want me to freeze to death_

* * *

"GRANGER WHY THE FUCK CAN I SEE MY BREATH IN MY OWN FLAT, HM?"

He stood in the doorway, refusing to take off even one layer of clothing. The warming charms were helping but the continued to wear off at an alarmingly fast pace, reminding him that he needed to improve his charm work before winter really hit.

"Hm?"

She didn't look up from her paperwork, her current case was apparently very time-consuming. Just a few days ago, Draco had to physically hide her files just so she would be forced to engage in conversation with him.

"Granger," he growled, his tone demanding her attention.

She glanced up from the scattered papers to blink at him. Her face scrunched up at his plentiful of clothing, mittens, and earmuffs.

"Why are you still wearing all that?"

"BECAUSE I'M BLOODY FREEZING, THAT'S WHY!"

Her own lack of layers – an unpleasant reminder that her charm work surpassed his to this day – brought about a new wave of irritation.

"Can't we turn up the heat? It's only November, and I have no intention on losing any dexterities this winter, _thankyouverymuch_."

Granger twisted her lips to one side.

"No, too expensive."

"Too exp - " He cut himself off, startled. "Fuck that, I'll pay for it. Hell, I'll cover the whole bloody bill, just TURN THE HEAT ON!"

He moved to sit beside her, wrapping a throw around his frigid limbs. He cast his wand towards the radiators and they instantly began humming, warmth spreading slowly through the flat.

"Malfoy!" She shrieked, reaching for her own wand.

He quickly cast _expelliarmus _and held her wand hostage, glowering at her.

"No,"

"But Malfoy - "

"NO,"

She pouted.

"It's too - "

He pointed his wand at her, "Don't you _dare_ say expensive, Granger. So help me, if I have to live in this igloo all winter, it'll be _you_ who has to answer to my mother about my inevitable demise."

Her lips formed a thin line.

"Inevitable demise? Really? A bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"NOT WHEN YOU'RE FORCING ME TO LIVE IN THESE CONDITIONS UNECESSARILY!"

"BUT I CAN'T ASK YOU TO COVER THE WHOLE BILL!"

"YES!" He threw his hands up in the air. "YES, YOU BLOODY CAN AND YES, YOU BLOODY WILL!"

"BUT _WHY_?"

"BECAUSE I CAN FUCKING AFFORD TO HEAT THE FLAT AND I _CANNOT_ FUCKING AFFORD TO LOSE A FINGER!"

"FINE!"

He waited until her expression dissolved into a more resolute one, then tentatively handed her wand back to her. She twirled it in her fingers before placing it back on the table, eying her piles of paperwork despairingly.

Draco, finally warming up, took his coat off and said, "Want to do that other thing instead?"

She blinked, "Are you serious? With the amount of work I have to do - " But when he stood up, she immediately grabbed his arm and sat him back down. "Yes, fine!"

He smirked, taking one of the small devices and handing her the other.

She narrowed her eyes at him, "I thought you didn't like muggle things,"

"This one is fun," then he shoved her playfully. "If you quote me on that, Granger, I will murder you in your sleep."

"But then who will keep you warm at night, Malfoy?" She asked, feigning naivety. Then, abruptly turning her attention to the telly displaying the current game they were both unhealthily obsessed with, shouted, "DIBS ON TOAD!"

"What? No! _I_ want to be Toad!"

"Too bad," she stuck her tongue out, "I called dibs."

"Granger, for the millionth time, I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT BLOODY MEANS! IT DOESN'T COUNT – YOU KNOW – HEY – Oh, fuck you."

She laughed at her selection of his own character, the smaller female version of hers.

"You look so cute as Toadette," she smirked mercilessly.

"Fuck you," he retorted, though the vehemence wasn't really in him. He was a bit too preoccupied with the fact that she'd shoved her work aside and shifted to prop her legs over his lap on the sofa.

He hated it.

He hated how comfortable she was around him; how easily she fit into him and his life. It was one thing for them to be amicable roommates, perhaps even friendly, but this? This was torture for him.

The past two months taught him that Granger was someone he had never predicted having this kind of connection with, but it was something he never wanted to lose.

However long it took for her to realize that "_Nothing more"_ was not in the cards for them, he would wait. He would be the best roommate and friend she could ask for in the meantime, and then –

"WHAT THE FUCK, GRANGER?"

She laughed, excitedly kicking her feet against his thighs as she swerved in front of him in the race to take the lead.

"GOTTA BE FASTER THAN THAT, MALFOY,"

On second thought, Draco pondered, he would _not_ be doing that.

He shoved her feet roughly to the floor and leaned forward off the sofa, "THAT'S IT,"

There were several shells of destruction and vengeance in his artillery which he proceeded to aim as best he could with her dramatic swerving back and forth in front of him. Finally, one connected, sending her recoiling into a perilous lake of lava.

"_HA!"_ He crowed.

Granger, now leaning forward as eagerly and engaged in the game as he was, elbowed him as her face contorted. He elbowed her back. The two of them continued to fight (mostly) playfully in person as they battled it out on their racing game.

They were neck and neck.

He was going to win; he could taste it. She was on the outer cut of the last turn and he would take the lead. It was inevitable.

Unless… Unless he _let_ her win.

Her face was pinched, focused, and adorably upset at her trailing position. Draco considered it for a millisecond – Would she be upset? Would she be thankful? Would she even _notice_ the gesture for what it was?

He doubted she would, though he did think she would figure out that he tossed the race. With that – and the fact that Draco dearly loved holding bragging rights – he drifted into the last corner and flashed across the finish line in first place.

He sat back, smug expression displayed across his victorious face, and said, "Don't worry, Granger, I'm sure one day you'll beat me."

"Best two out of three?" She growled. When he rolled his eyes at her, she added, "What are you scared or something, Malfoy?"

He leaned close, close enough to feel her breath on his cheek.

Draco _was_ scared; scared of how badly he wanted to taste her lips still, scared of how much he wanted her to spend nights in his bed doing _other_ things, scared of how dangerously quickly he seemed to be falling for her.

He didn't tell her any of this, of course. He scoffed instead and replied with, "No, Granger. I'm not scared of anything."

* * *

**A/N -**Thank you all for all of the lovely feedback! I hope you are enjoying this advent as much as I am. This one is for _Thisisonlyadrabble _xx


	22. All The Things, Part VIII

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part VIII**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 8.

* * *

_#8 You are an absolute mess_

* * *

"Theo, I'm _really_ not interested in hearing about the many ways you and Greengrass have been defacing the furniture of your flat," he shuddered. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you and - "

Draco broke off as he opened the door to his flat, pocketing his wand, and stared at the disaster before him.

It looked like a fucking tornado, tsunami, _and_ earthquake all hit at once.

There were bits and bobs everywhere with tinsel, candy canes, and miniature especially debaucherously-looking elves littered the floor; holiday music (which Draco had to deduce from the high-pitch singing of _"Santa tell me if he really cares, 'cause I can't give it all away if he won't be here next year,") _sounded through the flat at an alarmingly high volume with the scents of cinnamon and fire emanating from the kitchen seconds before the subsequent alarm went off.

"Err," Theo coughed, backing up hastily. "I better leave you to this. See ya!"

Draco immediately wished he could disapparate with him but pinched the bridge of his nose and precariously stepped across the floor, clearing a path of safety with his wand.

"Granger?"

There was a grunt of displeasure and muted shrieking in response.

He turned into the kitchen to see her attempting to charm the alarm, coaxing it into silence just as she noticed his arrival.

"Oh," she gasped, brushing away a stray curl from her face and leaving a white streak in its place. "Hi."

"Hello," he blinked. When she didn't acknowledge the chaos of the flat (including the kitchen where every pot and pan was out, dirtied, and thrown about in what looked to be a poor attempt at baking) he went on, "What is all this?"

She looked mildly pained, chewing on her bottom lip. "Nothing." At his extremely pointed look, she added, "You weren't supposed to be home yet, it's only – Oh, fuck – Never mind."

He surveyed the explosion of flour on her apron which featured a suggestive little mistletoe placed right above her –

"What are you doing, Granger?"

"Baking," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Failing to, from the looks of it," he retorted, brows arched. He wandered further into the space and had to cough through a fit of laughter upon seeing her baking sheet. "The fuck are these?"

"They're cookies." Her tone was defensive, and rightfully so. They looked horrible. "Christmas cookies."

"Fooled me,"

He held up one of the supposed masterpieces and stifled another laugh at its poorly formed shape.

"Leave that alone!" She chirped, swatting his hand away and placing the unbaked cookie back in its place. At his sharp, judgemental look, she sighed. "Well, they're not _done yet_."

"Mhm," he nodded. "Why, may I ask, are you doing this?"

"I was - " She paused, sighing. He noticed that she didn't meet his eye, training her gaze on the mess of the counter instead. "It was for you. I was going to make you some cookies, then surprise you with the decorations and – I don't know – just do something every day of December. A bit of an advent, really."

Draco's throat went dry, and he choked out, "Why?"

"Because," Granger said, biting her lip again. "I know how hard this time of year can be for someone who is missing someone that matters to them… Family…"

He thought back to her intrusive questions about his father's fate with Azkaban and his mother's upcoming release from it. She had tricked him into opening up over a mulled bottle of wine. While it had been nice to talk about at the time, he had definitely not expected to feel this _warmth_ spread over him at the thought of her going through all the trouble to make him feel better.

Wanted.

_Loved_.

"Why cookies?" He managed to cough up after a minute of recovery from the realization.

"It's tradition," she sniped. "My mum and I used to bake Christmas cookies every year just before December, and we would decorate the house as well. It was something we always did, just the two of us, every year."

As she told him this she toyed with the horribly formed cookies, adjusting their position on the tray by mere millimetres. Draco could tell from her nervous tick that this admission was something she cared a lot about; he made a mental note not to be a dick and laugh about it.

He sighed, "Well, alright then Granger. Let's bake fucking Christmas cookies."

"What?"

Her head snapped up, and her eyes met his. They were wide and warm and genuinely shocked.

He tried not to be offended by her surprise at his gentlemanlike behaviour.

"You heard me," he huffed. "Now, come on. Let's clean this disaster up and start over."

He moved to wave his wand, and she coughed politely in her hand. "No magic," she informed him shyly.

"No magic?" He blinked, bewildered. "Why the fuck not?"

She pursed her lips, and shrugged, "Tradition."

It occurred to him then that if it was tradition it was because Granger's mum was not a witch like she was and had no other option than to do all of this holiday nonsense without the assistance of handy charms and spells.

Fuck.

"Can't we use it to clean up, at least?" He pressed, eying the overflowing sink of dirty dishes. He shot her his best I'm Too Good For This smirk, "If not, then _you're_ on dishes duty." As she chewed her lip, he started to turn away. "I'll just take a nap and you can call me when you're done."

"No, no! Alright, fine. We can use magic. But _just_ for cleaning, alright?"

"Deal,"

Which is how, a couple hours later – with the rest of the house fully decorated to perfection (he believed even Narcissa herself would be pleased with the result) and a scented candle in every room charmed to burn whenever someone was occupying the room – the two of them were sitting at the kitchen bar with freshly baked cookies meticulously shaped.

He handed her a candy cane shaped sugar cookie in turn for receiving the red icing she had been hogging. Santa hats, he'd been bossily informed, were _only_ red. He argued that Saint Nick might look dashing in a chartreuse hat but had been vetoed.

"You know," he said, focusing on his craftmanship. "I didn't take you for the overly religious type. Christmas-loving and all that,"

"I'm neither," she admitted.

"Then why the hell did we do all of this nonsense?" He protested. "It's not like I care too much for the holiday spirit either," he noted.

"As I said, it was something my mum and I always did together. This isn't my first holiday season without her, but it… it feels like it. It feels like I'm actually alone now, you know? I'm not out hunting for Horcruxes to defeat a Dark Lord, and I'm not with Ron anymore so I don't have him or his mother keeping me otherwise occupied. It's just… me." She paused, looking over at him thoughtfully. "And like you mentioned the other night, it's not exactly _the most wonderful time of the year _for you either. I figured we could both use a little cheering up, and this is the first thing that came to mind."

He swallowed.

Draco cleared his throat, sending her a haughty glare, "I'm not lonely, Granger."

"No," she replied, hiding a smile. "You have me,"

"Well… For what's it worth, you have me as well." He offered her, sparing her a brief moment of a charming and innocent Malfoy smile.

Her lips twitched into a minor smirk, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

When she turned back to her cookie with flushed cheeks and a genuine smile across her lips, he had to fight the urge to push her for me. Instead, he did what he usually did, and ruined the moment with his Malfoy arrogance.

"Seriously, don't." He warned with feigned irritation, "Or, I will firmly deny it until the end of time itself."

Granger laughed, "Noted."

* * *

**A/N -** This one is for _PurpleCaboose_ for noticing the unevenness of the give and take between them - so clever, go you! Things should start to shift now... If there is anything in particular you want to see, let me know and I can try to fit it in! xx


	23. All The Things, Part IX

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part IX**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 9.

* * *

_#9 My Mother likes you_

* * *

Well… fuck.

How does one go about inviting his flatmate who he may (true) or may not (false) have feelings for that she's been _cordially invited _to spend Yule with his parents because his mother demands to meet the woman he "won't stop talking about" without making it seem like it has to do with the whole feelings thing?

Because if he A) doesn't admit to having any said feelings then she would be right to question why she has received such an invitation seemingly out of nowhere. But if he B) admits to having said feelings then he risks being rejected by her and enduring the holiday season – and the rest of their flat lease – with loads of emptiness and a dash of regret.

So…

"GRANGER!" Draco called out, still staring at the two beautifully written invitations in his hands.

"Marphuh?" She called back, appearing from the bathroom with a toothbrush in her mouth. "Warshup?"

He sighed, "You _know_ how much I hate trying to have a conversation with you when you do that."

"Dorwah?"

He narrowed his eyes, and she promptly rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh before disappearing back into the bathroom and then reappearing without the blasted toothbrush.

"Your welcome," she chimed.

He didn't hesitate, "I didn't say thank you, Granger."

"Eh," she shrugged. "Technically you just did," – he opened his mouth to continue but she came up and plucked the envelope clearly addressed to Miss Hermione Granger and gave him a pointed look – "What's this?"

"It's for you," he smirked. "I thought you could read. How sad that I've grossly overestimated your abilities. Sorry to hear it."

"Oh, shut up." She elbowed him, then opened it and much to his dismay went extremely silent.

He cleared his throat. "Mother told me she invited Astoria this year. I asked if I could bring you to help me… behave."

Granger blinked, then tucked the letter into her back pocket. "Yeah, of course," she crossed her arms and let a smile spread across her face, lighting up her features. "I'll be there."

"Great."

She stared at him for a moment and he feared that she'd seen right through his lie.

"Is there something you aren't telling me?"

He bit his inner cheek, "You need a dress."

"I have plenty of - "

"No," he cut in, delighted to steer the conversation in a direction he was well-versed in and not at all nervous to talk about. "None of them are fancy enough. This is a Yule dinner and ball at Malfoy Manor. NOT TO MENTION," he held up a finger. "That it's my mother's first event since her – Well – You know." Draco cleared his throat, then scoffed. "Come on, Granger."

She rolled her eyes at him again.

"Fine. You have to come with me, then. To help."

He could have told her that Greengrass would probably be better suited to help her, seeing as she had not only an eye for fashion, but also a positive reputation among the usual Manor guests as being the best-dressed.

He could have also volunteered himself, as she wanted, but he didn't think he could handle walking around boutiques with her and not feel despondent because she would have no idea how much her attending meant to him. Besides, he _really_ didn't think he could do less than tell her "You look beautiful" in every gown.

So…

"Mother will take you."

Draco beamed, hoping his pleading eyes would be enough to convince her to spend an entire day with Narcissa Malfoy going from shop to shop looking for an appropriately elegant gown.

Granger blinked.

Then, she groaned enormously and swatted him with the back of her hand – "Ouch, Granger – Whoa, watch it – Hey! What the hell? – OUCH!" – until she huffed and stormed out of the foyer.

It took Draco a moment to recollect himself and pad further into the flat, cautiously peering around the corner to see her storming back towards him. He leapt back several feet and yelped.

"Oh, relax," she said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

_Yet…_ He thought unhelpfully (both emotionally and physically).

He stayed out of reach and kept a careful eye out for her wand's whereabouts. He did note, however, that there was a formal parchment letter in one of her hands and a simple quill in the other. She quickly charmed the quill after setting the parchment down on a nearby coffee table.

"I don't have the neatest scripture," she explained at his expression. "Or so Theo loves to remind me at work." Another eye roll, but affectionately.

"What?"

"Well, I presume your mother is the type of woman to care about that sort of thing, right? I don't want her to dislike me before she even meets me for this futile appointment."

Draco sat beside her, "You're writing to my mother?"

"Well… Yes." She tilted her head to the side, arching a single brow at him. "I think it's polite and, more importantly, isn't it correct etiquette according to your weird pureblood rules? I'm sure you keep telling me that or something like it."

"I – Yes. Yes, that's correct." He stared dumbly at her. "You remember that?"

She cleared her throat softly, "Just because I don't always respond to your constant rambling and ranting _does not mean_ that I don't listen to what you're saying."

Draco felt immensely stupid.

And (a teeny bit) flattered.

"So," Granger went on. "What do I say?"

He shouldn't have been surprised, he knew, that by the time Yule came around Granger and his mother had become regular correspondents and well on their way to being good friends. His own owls from his mother said as much even if he couldn't tell from the way Granger talked about Narcissa when something reminded her of something the very posh, very talented woman would say or do.

Granger's near meltdown over what to gift Narcissa alone was enough to make his side ache from laughter.

Then, she had to go out of her way to make _him_ feel appreciated as well by sending him tiny gifts as part of her advent every day at work. A new tie here, a new practice snitch there, and it went on and on.

She just kept on giving.

He tried to reciprocate but she waved him away, claiming that her gifts were only small and that it was only fair after all of the meaningful gifts he'd given her since they became flatmates. He'd asked her, "What gifts? I didn't buy you anything," but she sighed and shook her head, then said something under her breath about how money can't buy everything or whatever.

Draco was happy, of course, that she got along well with his mother and why wouldn't he be?

It had – unsurprisingly – been a subject of concern as far as Granger earning his mother's approval (not that she would ever know he set her up for that kind of screening process).

Except, it made it that much harder on him every time Granger would go from, "Oh, look at what Narcissa sent for us. It even has those little cakes I love so much – Oh, and sour sweets for you," to "I can only imagine what she would send us if we were more than friends and flatmates – Haha, your face! Malfoy, relax, We're friends, best friends even. Nothing more."

_Nothing more._

Fuck me, he thought.

At the top of his Christmas list to the fat bastard this year: _make it go away, please._

However, what Draco didn't catch because he was too busy internally lamenting over the bushy-haired witch he lived with, was the way her eye caught on his face after he'd looked away. He didn't catch the way she swept aside a loose curl covering the colour rising to her cheeks, or the way her laughing smile immediately dropped the moment he wasn't watching her make a joke about the two of them anymore.

* * *

**A/N - **This one is dedicated to _mega700201. _New chapter coming shortly for _The Art of Betrayal _if any of you are following that WIP of mine xx


	24. All The Things, Part X

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part X**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 10.

* * *

_#10 Now I can't imagine spending holidays without you_

* * *

Malfoy made Granger agree that they would not exchange real Christmas gifts, which she happily obliged after a few protests (less than her usual fit of defiance, so he was thrilled).

It was probably for the best seeing as one of them didn't know what to give someone that would be both appropriate according to certain not-to-be-named rules one must follow _and_ also non-indicative of how one perceives someone which vastly dictates that said rules _must_ be followed.

Instead, they agreed to take a winter holiday together (Well… together but not _together_. Her phrasing – and with insistence – as if he was going to argue that it would be in any other way) just before the New Year.

So, there they were. Standing at the top of a slope, staying at one of the most luxurious places in the Alps.

"Come on, Granger," he said, staring at his reflection in her goggles. "Are you telling me we came all the way out here, made it _all_ the way up to the top and you won't go down just _one_ slope?"

"It's _dangerous_," she hissed, though he could hear the tremble in her voice.

However, Draco didn't give a fuck. Granger was tough, and he knew she could handle this. In fact, he would have liked to believe that she would enjoy it if she would just _try_.

"MERLIN'S BEARD, IT'S A _GREEN_ SLOPE," he retorted. "You know what?" – Her head snapped back to him from where it had been peering (probably regrettably) at the course ahead of them – "I didn't want to have to say it, but I will."

She remained silent.

He continued, pulling out a small camera and charming it to levitate before them. He had already worked on this particular spell for a while and knew that the second they moved, the camera would follow and either take wonderful candid shots or a beautiful video.

"I bet Weasley would _die_ of envy if he saw you on a prestigious winter holiday in some place his family wouldn't be able to _dream of_ affording even if they saved for the better part of a decade."

After a quiet minute she replied, "That's not very nice, Malfoy."

"SPOILER ALERT, GRANGER, I'M NOT NICE,"

She grunted, "FINE. FINE. I'll go down the bloody slope, but don't take any photos to rub it in Ron's face, ok?"

"Fine," he grumbled. "Whatever." Then, he gave her a good shove and laughed as she wailed into the first descent.

"MALFOYYYY! FUCK YOU!"

He broke out in laughter as her screams turned from Horror Film Bimbo #3 to Adventurist Seeking New Thrill, then quickly charmed the camera anyway and caught up to her with ease.

He swerved in front of her expertly, taunting her and making her shout endless obscenities at him for his precarious proximity.

"MALFOY WILL YOU _DESIST_," Granger squealed bossily. "STOP THAT – _STOP_ – YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE US CRASH AND FALL!"

Draco continued to antagonize her. Firstly, because he could, but mostly because she got so satisfyingly worked up about it.

"NOPE," he called over his shoulder, spraying her with loose snow for good measure. "GOTTA BE FASTER THAN THAT, GRANGER."

When they finally skidded to a stop at the bottom of the mountain – it _was_ a green slope which made the overall journey quite quick and easy – he took off his head gear and ran a hand through his damp hair, slicking it back into its usual place.

He really needed to work on his spell work if it came undone after such little physical exertion.

"See?" He teased. "That wasn't so bad."

"It would have been loads better still if you hadn't been so impossible! That was dangerous enough without you making it worse! We could have gotten _injured_," she replied, her hair springing out in every which way as she also took off her head gear.

He shook his head, "Let me guess, _or worse escorted off the slopes by security_," doing his best imitation of a snotty, young Granger.

She narrowed her eyes at him, "I do _not_ sound like that, Malfoy." Though, arguably, her tone proved otherwise. His arched brow pointed that out. "Shut up," she snapped, then balled up a snowball and flung it at him.

It collided with his shoulder, splattering coldly against his cheek.

"Oh," he replied in a low, dangerous tone. "Now, you've done it."

She shrieked and immediately spun around to run away from him.

"GET BACK HERE, GRANGER!" He sprinted after her, both of them abandoning their equipment in favour of chasing each other around and throwing snowballs at each other. "TAKE THAT! AND _THAT!"_

"AH!" Granger screamed, doing her best (and failing miserably) to avoid his attacks while administering her own. "NOT FAIR!"

"NOT FAIR? YOU BLOODY STARTED THIS," he ducked one of her incoming snowballs by ducking beside a tree, then slipped his wand out of his pocket and charmed several perfectly formed spheres to hit her abominable knit hat. "DO YOU ADMIT DEFEAT, GRANGER?"

She retaliated with a makeshift shield, then a snow flurry that temporarily blinded him.

"NEVER!" She shouted back. "I'M GOING TO MAKE _YOU_ ADMIT DEFEAT,"

"OH, YEAH? WANNA BET?"

There was moment of silence, then, "FUCK YEAH I WANNA BET, MALFOY."

Needless to say, he won. Poor Granger didn't stand a chance. Never does, really. Draco always wins.

Later that night, he collected his winnings via a much-needed back massage on the sofa by the fireplace of their suite (Yes – One bed. They shared it. They did it often enough in their own flat, especially when it was cold, that neither of them could see any reason for spending more on an extra room when they weren't going to use it. Granger's idea – remarkably – and not his.).

"So," he said, twisting around to knock her off of his back and pull a cashmere sweater over his head. "How come you were available to go on this holiday with me? I know my sad excuse but what's yours?" His gaze flickered across her doe-eyes and he grimaced, adding, "Don't fucking tell me Weasley and Potter abandoned you again. For fuck's sake, Granger, I swear one day I'm going to - "

"It's not that," she said, interrupting his half-empty threat. "Well, not entirely." She amended.

Draco lay back against the pillows, folding his hands behind his head as he waited patiently for her to continue.

"Ron always spends the holidays on a family trip," she said. Her fingers reached out to trail idly up and down his calf, stroking the muscle as if she hadn't just spent an hour meticulously undoing every knot in his back. "Lavender went with him, of course,"

He bit back a mean retort and hooked his other leg around her waist, reminding her that _he_ was here. For her.

_You have me_, she'd said. It still brought him immeasurable pain and pleasure.

"Anyway," she sighed, shaking her head as if the act itself would rid her thoughts of the disastrous couple. "I was planning on going on holiday with Harry. He wanted to make up for bailing on me for Christmas."

Draco frowned, "Did he bail on you again?" He said, mostly hiding the venom from his tone.

"No," she replied softly. "I bailed on him, actually. I told him I'd rather go on this trip… with you." Granger confessed.

He blinked slowly, processing the information.

"What?"

She sat up sharply, prancing over to the kitchenette and producing two different bottles for two very different moods. "Well," she pronounced, holding them up for his inspection with a cheeky grin. "Which one?"

Draco shook his head, biting back a grin of his own, and gestured to the bottle of pink gin. Granger immediately set to working on the cocktails and brought them over when she was done. He eyed the fruit bobbing in the daring-inducing liquid.

"Must it be the pink gin?" He lamented, tossing her a roguish frown.

She rolled her eyes at him, propping her feet up in his lap and taking a tentative sip of her masterpiece. "I thought you liked the drinks I made?" She questioned with an accusatory brow.

He took a sip, meeting her brown, teasing gaze with one of his own. "Perhaps," he whispered. "I only like it because _you_ made it."

At that, her lips turned upwards and disappeared behind her next sip.

They spent a glorious week doing more or less the same thing: waking early to be the first ones on the slopes, breaking for a hot cup of cocoa and lunch, spending the afternoon huddled by the fire with a good book, and then the evening in the hot baths with either a bottle of Ogden's or a posh bottle of bubbles.

It was the best holiday Draco had _ever_ been on.

Every day was exhilarating and full of content. Other than, predictably, their second to last night on the holiday: New Year's Eve.

* * *

**A/N - **This one is for _lydi13,_ welcome! To _CocoaMoon_ \- Same, girl, same. To _PurpleCaboose_ \- Thank you for your thorough examination of this fic! I am so glad you're picking up on the intricate relationships and the parallels to the books. xx


	25. All The Things, Part XI

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XI**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 11.

* * *

_#11 Fire whiskey makes you look irresistible_

* * *

Draco wasn't particularly delusional, and so when he woke up in Granger's arms in the early hours of the morning, he didn't let his mind run rampant with how the rest of the day might pan out between them.

New Year's Eve.

What a terribly pathetic excuse for a holiday. How grotesque! An entire day spent celebrating the end of one year and the subsequent start of another one when time was an arbitrary figment of imagination and beginning the new calendar year with a kiss was _not_ scientifically proven to increase one's good fortune. It was as absurd and as trusted as divination.

Yet, for the first time in his whole life, he wanted to partake in the stupid tradition.

He wanted to kiss Granger when the clock struck twelve, and he wanted it to mean something, to mean that the new year would be filled with new memories they shared and the promise of something fruitful forming from their unlikely flatmate situation. Perhaps something less platonic.

Draco let the warm water relax his muscles as he leaned languidly against the tile of the shower. There was a loud bang as Granger barged into the bathroom and tripped over his clothing and practically launched herself at the counter, knocking over several bottles of skincare (his, not hers, though he was slowly introducing her to his routine and coaxing her into following the regimen like that of a wild doe).

"Granger?" He snapped, immediately turning away from the frosted glass so that she couldn't see his very naked body. "What the _fuck_?"

"I have to pee," she grumbled.

Much to his displeasure, she did not see herself out and politely wait for him to vacate the bathroom, or even the shower and wrap a towel around himself, but instead she wiped at the sleep in the corner of her eyes and lifted the toilet seat.

"GRANGER YOU ARE NOT - " He broke off, swearing under his breath and averting his gaze. "Yes," he murmured to himself. "Yes, you are."

After the sound of the flush and the tap being turned on, he craned his neck over his shoulder to peer over at her with irritated vehemence. It was too bloody early in the morning for this.

Not to mention it was very difficult for him to hide his hard-on when his previous thoughts of kissing her where being doubly entertained by the way her oversized shirt barely covered her bum when lifted her hands to wash them.

"CAN YOU NOT?" He hissed loudly.

She flicked her wet hands toward him playfully, "Relax, would you? It's not like I haven't seen you naked, nor that you haven't seen me naked as well."

"Don't remind me," he grumbled under his breath. Then, he spoke up again with a heightened sense of panic as she lifted her shirt and deposited it on the floor, "Granger, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"

She frowned at him, "Joining you."

"_What?_" He shifted in the shower, willing himself to calm the blood rushing south. "Absolutely not, why would you do that? We've never done that!"

"We're _friends_, Malfoy," she stated matter-of-factly. "It's not like it'll change anything. Besides, think of all the water we'd be saving."

"I don't give a fuck about the planet at the moment, Granger,"

Granger shrugged, then slipped out of her knickers and slid the shower door aside to step in. Feeling immensely cornered and unnerved, Draco stepped out and wrapped a towel around himself. She pouted.

"You know what? You enjoy the rest of the hot water by yourself. I have to – There's something that I – Ugh, never mind. Bye."

He sulked and left the bathroom with a scowl on his face and water dripping all over the suite.

Later that night had not been much better. He'd drank copious amounts of whiskey, glass after glass until he was successfully good and drunk. The alcohol calmed his nerves and provided a much-needed relief from the buzzing of his muscles in Granger's presence.

They'd opted to attend the resort's party to celebrate the stupid holiday, and it was packed with couples; half were clearly together and enjoying a reprieve from their mundane daily lives, and the other half were clearly single with every intention of grinding and flirting with each other in the hopes of securing a semi-decent kiss for when the night came to an end.

"Your bottle is already half-empty," Granger noted, settling into the armchair next to him.

He leaned back into the cushions and sighed, "Perhaps it's half-full."

"I would not have pinned you for the optimist," she remarked with a teasing lift of her eyebrows in his direction.

They were in a secluded corner because as readily as Draco had agreed to attend this stupid event with her, he absolutely loathed it. She regrettably fell in the latter of the categories and had been shamelessly flirting with an athletic-looking bloke.

"And you take the role of the pessimist," he countered. "The earth must have bent off of its axis."

She rolled her eyes, "I'm not pessimistic, just realistic."

"I beg to differ," he replied, sounding very much like he didn't beg anything.

Granger's expression sobered up a bit as she narrowed her eyes at him, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Oops. He'd done it now. He knew that tone. It was one of her most disapproving ones which meant he was surely in for a lecture of some sort regarding either his ill behaviour or despicable morality.

Oh, well.

He was drunk and he was feeling especially self-loathing at the moment.

"Let's dance," he suggested, stumbling forward and taking her hand. She protested slightly, pushing him for an explanation for his commentary, and eventually he caved. "Fine, fine. Will you desist with your shrill shrieking? I haven't the stamina to withstand it this evening, Granger."

She sighed, letting him pull her in and twirl her around in a somewhat lively, yet intimate dance.

"That oaf that you've been chatting up all night has no intention of calling you tomorrow morning should you be dim-witted enough to let yourself fall into his arms tonight." He said, looking over her wild curls and not meeting her eyes.

"Why do you care who I talk to?" She countered, then lightened her tone to a teasing one. "Afraid that I won't be in _your_ arms to keep you warm tonight? We can always find you a bird to keep you occupied if that's what's bothering you."

He gritted his teeth.

She was positively impossible!

Draco looked down at her and the way she fit so comfortably in his arms – as she had so painstakingly pointed out that he was becoming dependent on – and there was a moment where he thought about leaning in and kissing her.

It wouldn't be entirely out of the question for him to do so, would it? He'd been able to think of nothing else since the firewhiskey first burned his lips, and she _had_ suggested that he find someone. What if he told her he didn't want anyone else? That he only wanted her, only ever her.

She had also clearly been looking for someone to share her insipid New Year's kiss with… so why not let it be him?

They were friends, and they were so highly compatible so would it really be so out of the norm to presume that if they kissed it wouldn't ruin everything between them? By process of deduction, Draco could safely presume that there must be some part of her that wanted him the same way he wanted her – or at least to explore the possibility of _them_.

Draco knew that if he kissed her there was always the possibility that she would shove him away and curse him for forgetting _Nothing more_. There was the chance that if he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers that she would slap him (which was not something he wanted to revisit) and flee to her mindless oaf for comfort.

However, there was also the undeniable fact about Hermione Granger which Draco knew would be pertinent to him kissing her should he dare to try it; he would have to ask her permission because she was the kind of person who was not fond of being made to do things and especially was not fond of not having a voice on a subject – especially one involving her.

He would have to ask her, then, if he wanted to kiss her. He would have to cup her cheek, tilt her chin up to place her lips a breath away from his, and he would have to ask her, "May I kiss you?" or "May I kiss you, Granger, please?"

But of course not. He wouldn't say please because that was so perfunctorily not him.

Ah, but then what if she asked him _why_? There was no way Draco was going to even attempt to answer that one. No. Better that he just kept his brain-deteriorating thoughts to himself and not kiss her.

It was a stupid, _stupid_ tradition anyway.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She asked, jarring him from his internal and destructive reverie.

"Nothing," he replied, then took hold of her hand and pulled her away from the dance floor, picking up a bottle of champagne on their way out. "Let's break into the baths and get away from this cesspool of desperation, shall we?"

"Sure," she smiled.

Kill me, he thought, _please_.

* * *

**A/N - **Dedicated to _jacpin2002 _(again, lol) for all of the love on this fic and TAoB. That comment on soulmates and Kendrick made my fucking day... best compliment ever xx


	26. All The Things, Part XII

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XII**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 12.

* * *

_#12 Your household charms could use some improvement _

* * *

The fire alarm went off in the flat again, dragging Draco from his otherwise restless post-work nap.

His eyes shot open, and he sprang up from his position on the sofa; in his minor brush of terror at the blaring sound, Draco had levitated himself nearly to the ceiling. Coming back down, he brushed off his cashmere sweater and crossed angrily into the kitchen.

"What the hell are you bloody doing in here?" He demanded.

She poked her head out from the open oven and whisked her wand to dispense of the smoke and the alarm in one fellow swoosh. "I'm cooking," she remarked drily, then waved a hand toward the mess of dishes. "Obviously."

"Granger, we talked about this." Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No," she protested, "We agreed that I should no longer _bake_. We agreed upon no such thing in regard to cooking."

He let out an exasperated sigh, "Surely you must realize that you possess the skills for neither."

She huffed loudly and waved her wand over the burnt roast, bringing it back to life – or trying to. His nose scrunched in disgust as the blackened skin fell off to reveal a still-frozen pile of meat.

"Delicious," he remarked.

"Shut up, Malfoy." She growled defensively. "It _was_ going to be for you but now - Wait - You know what? - I'd like to see you do better."

"In fact, Granger," he said with mocking sweetness. "I _can_ do better. Unlike you, I happen to have excellent household skills."

He gestured to his overall perfect appearance momentarily before waving a hand over her pots of vegetables and potatoes, then finally over the sad excuse for a chicken.

"MALFOY. DON'T YOU'LL - "

Granger stopped her incessant screeching when the table of inedible disasters transfigured into that of a steaming array of Mexican delights. He nodded to the several dishes of a make-your-own taco and smirked, "You were saying?"

"OH, TO HELL WITH THIS!"

She angrily fixed herself a taco and stormed to the other side of the kitchen to sit at the kitchen island. She levitated the plate of savoury goodness toward her and then, after a second thought, slid it over to him and arranged another one for her.

"Why do you care so much about having exemplary culinary qualities all of a sudden?" He asked her.

She took the transfigured margarita he slid in her direction with a tight smile, "It's nothing."

"That's fucking rubbish," he noted. "Just spit it out, Granger, so we can both move on from this terribly uninteresting topic."

"You brought it up," she grumbled under her breath.

"BECAUSE YOU BLOODY SET THE FIRE ALARM OFF AGAIN,"

She took another bite of her taco, chewing slowly to avoid answering his question. In turn, he sipped idly at his own margarita and stared at her expectantly.

"If you're going to continue to derail my life and my coveted state of unconsciousness, then I think it's on _fair_ that you - "

"FUCK, FINE MALFOY. FINE." Granger snapped. She downed the rest of her margarita before slamming it down on the counter and adding, "It's because of that empty-headed Brown that Ron is so insistent on being in love with."

"Seriously?"

"What?" She demanded, finally meeting his gaze.

"This," he gestured to the kitchen, then to her frazzled and peeved state. "This whole thing is about _Weasley_? You must be joking,"

"Malfoy, if you're going to - "

"What?" He interrupted, irritated with her heedless efforts to impress her ex. "If I'm going to _talk some sense into you_?" He stood and finished his own drink before leaving her in the kitchen to mull over her self-pity on her own.

As he expected, Granger came running after him, breathless. "I just don't understand," she huffed. "How can _Lavender Brown_ be able to do these things and I can't. She has a food blog now, you know," she added with a grimace.

"That's hardly proof of her competence," Draco noted. He took a seat on the sofa and picked up the controllers, handing her one. She wordlessly took it and set up their newest game.

"Still," she muttered as she selected a cartoon dragon for herself and a narwhal for him. "Molly loves it, and she won't stop gushing about how _positively wonderful_ all of her recipes are."

"Why do you care what Molly Weasley thinks?" He prompted, readying himself – as the cartoon narwhal chef in the game – to prepare a series of sushi plates. Granger meanwhile – as his counterpart co-chef – began running back and forth the screen delivering firstly ingredients and then subsequently dropping off the finished plates.

"I don't," Granger sighed. "It's just that she specifically asked me never to bring anything to any family gatherings, and I'm quite talented at charms."

"Brilliant,"

"No, Malfoy, it's _not_ brilliant. That's the point – OH, FUCK. GET THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER - "

"The what?" He shouted.

"Never mind, I'll do it. You're useless when it comes to muggle artefacts," she snapped back.

"WELL HOW AM I EXPECTED TO KNOW WHAT THESE BLASTED THINGS ARE – GRANGER HURRY UP _IT'S SPREADING_ – Fuck's sake." He scrambled to make up for the lost time, pausing in reality to slide her a sidelong glance. Noting unhelpfully that a tendril of her curls had fallen in her face during her concentration. "I meant that you're brilliant at charms," Draco added quietly. "Not simply _quite talented_, Granger. But brilliant – and at charms that are of much more importance than household ones."

"Household charms are important, Malfoy." She argued. "Yours are significantly better than mine. I've seen your spell work for keeping your ties in place regardless of whichever slippery material you choose and let me tell you, it's impressive."

"Silk, Granger." Draco shook his head, "It's not that difficult to identify bloody silk."

"You know what I was talking about," she said. "There was no need for you to be a pompous prat about it."

He sighed, "If you want to be bloody gifted in the kitchen, then improve your technique. It's hardly along the same difficulties as your office charms, and those are practically perfect in every way."

"Mary Poppins, really?" She judged with an arched brow.

Draco blinked, "Who?" But when she waved him away, he shrugged and went on. "I'm just saying, you don't need to be talented in the kitchen to be of worth to a potential partner. I would think you of all people would have some incredibly definitive stance on that." Weasley was an idiot for dating Brown when he could have worked harder at being deserving of her, and it had absolutely nothing to do with his necessity to be nanny-ed or Granger's lack of culinary skills.

"I - " She looked over at him, evidently getting run over by a car in the game as she stopped mid-crossing the street. "What?"

"Besides," he said, turning back to the game before he did something stupid from the way her eyes widened at him, pleading and ridiculously incorrigible. "Molly Weasley is hardly the epitome of culinary arts. Her opinion on the matter shouldn't be of significance to you."

"Oh," she muttered.

The game relayed a small storyline before taking them to the next level (bloody fucking _hamburgers_ which was the most detesting of the silly cuisines they were forced to make for some equally repugnant walnut overlord).

During which, he turned to her after feeling her gaze boring into his prickled skin.

"You should really close your mouth before a pixie finds its way down your throat," he suggested non-too kindly.

"Right," She said, then rolled her eyes at him and nudged him lightly with her elbow. Playfully. It took everything in him not to nudge her back and lay her against the sofa, shutting her swotty mouth up by pressing his undeserving lips to hers.

At the end of the level, she paused the game and looked over at him sheepishly. "Malfoy," she drawled cautiously. "Will you help me? Teach me household charms?"

"Granger," he sighed, exasperated. "You don't need me to - "

"I do." She cut in. She blinked up at him. "I do need you." Then, as if realizing what she'd just admitted, shook her head and put the game back on play, preparing for the next blasted set of culinary instructions.

"Granger," he began tentatively, but she cut him off again.

"Don't," she sighed. "It's fine. I get it. Forget I asked." She paused, then shot him a playful smirk. "And don't even _think_ about letting that comment go to your head."

"Which comment?" He pressed, a smirk of his own forming.

"You know bloody well which comment," she said, rolling her eyes. "I see it's already too late." Though, she didn't seem entirely too upset about that being the case and Draco fought a smile creeping up on his face.

* * *

**A/N - **Sorry today's update was late! Tomorrow's likely will be around the same time if not postponed until Saturday, my apologies. This one is for _preetybeety_, _SabersDragon_, and _M__b2001_ xx


	27. All The Things, Part XIII

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XIII**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 13.

* * *

_#13 Roses are red, violets are blue, this day sucks, I blame you _

* * *

Draco dropped his suitcase on his desk with a loud bang and then rummaged through its contents for his practice snitch from Granger. It buzzed around the empty office with excitement, darting over and under his co-workers' desks and teasing him as it passed _just _out of reach every time it made a lap around the room.

It was a Saturday – so why was he volunteering to come in and work overtime when he didn't do any meaningful work in the Ministry anyway?

Because it was bloody Valentine's Day and it seemed like the better option as opposed to having to listen to Granger sniffle and sob her way through muggle romantic-comedy films and an entire tin of chocolates (and his only other friend was otherwise occupied by shoving his tongue down his newly fiancée's throat).

It was boring, though, because there was no one else in the office and – as he'd mentioned before – he wasn't responsible for anything on a normal workday, much less anything meriting overtime.

Which is how he ended up ranting to a Niffler he found in a storage closet; the dastardly creature continuously tried – and failed – to pickpocket him throughout his monologue.

"SO, THEN – I'm trapped by the way because she's blocking my exit – I say 'No, Granger, I said I'm fine' and she is _fucking insisting_ by then that I take one of her biscuits. But that must be a trick, right? Some plot to figure out if I'm harbouring any romantic feelings for her – WHICH I'M DEFINITELY NOT – and so, I snapped back that I would take one of her stupid chocolate biscuits – WHICH IS ABSURD AND SO _HER_ TO LIKE THEM, MIGHT I ADD – and of course, _of course_, I fucking love it. I mean, I still think dark chocolate is far superior to milk, but – Fuck, I mean – they were _her_ biscuits and she fucking cherishes them. DID YOU KNOW SHE TRIED TO HEX ME WHEN I SIMPLY _LOOKED_ AT THEM FUNNY WHEN WE FIRST MOVED IN, HM? – Now, she just offers it up? Just like that? I mean… What the fuck am I supposed to make of _that_?"

During this entire mindless monologue, Draco was pacing back and forth on top of his desk, kicking at various office supplies and aiming for the bin, yelling "_Kobe_!" just like Granger would in their flat even though he had remotely no idea what it meant.

The Niffler had finally snatched at one of his cufflinks and was currently working on securing the other gold heirloom when a paper airplane shot out from the fireplace in a roar of blue flames.

Draco took the note and read its contents, then reread it to make sure his eyes hadn't been playing tricks on him.

_I need you. Come home immediately._

In a flash of gold, Draco disappeared into the Ministry's floo and reappeared in the one in their flat. His eyes landed on Granger, buried beneath a hoard of throws – none of which were hand-knit or gifts from gingers, thankfully – and gave her an openly worrying expression when her head of curls resurfaced.

"Oh, THANK GODRIC," she said, her teeth flashing brilliantly when she saw him.

"What?" Draco asked, surveying the room for any potential chaos or small fire she may have set. "What is it?"

"Can you pick me up a new tin of chocolates?" Granger asked weakly. She blinked up at him from beneath hooded eyelashes and dilated eyes. "Perhaps also a bottle of wine? This one's almost empty."

From beneath the blankets, a pale arm shot out displaying the wine bottle that was in fact three-quarters full.

His grey gaze slid over to the coffee table to see two empty bottles and a fuck ton of sweets wrappers. "Granger, what the - "

"MALFOY, PLEAAAAASE?" She whined, pouting up at him and swiping away at loose tendrils.

"Are you - " He blinked. "You're fucking _wasted_, Granger."

"Mhm," she nodded a bit proudly. "Absolutely sloshed. Positively pissed. Marvelously - "

"Alright, stop," he waved his hand and levitated the bottle away from her tinted lips. He knew she was a lightweight on a good day, but _this_ amount – and of _Barbera_? She was fucking sloshed alright. "What the hell? THIS is the reason for your urgent owl?"

"OH, SO YOU DID GET IT!" She beamed, falling back against the sofa dramatically. "I was starting to wonder if you'd never come. Celebrations would be ideal, but if they're sold out by now, then Roses will do. Do not, I repeat, _do not_ get Quality Street." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I will loathe you for all eternity if you do."

"Promise?" He asked, inclining his head in her direction.

"Fuck you," she snapped, though its usual dry vehemence wasn't in it, and she ended up stumbling off the sofa toward the confiscated bottle of wine. She took a swig before he reprimanded it again and ushered her back onto the sofa with a grumpy pout. "What?" She asked him, wagging her finger. "You're not going to say 'Promise?' to that."

"Did you want me to?" He challenged.

She opened her mouth, closed it to reconsider, and then settled on, "I miss sex." Her bloodshot eyes slowly lifted to meet his. She blinked, swaying slightly. "We should have sex. You and me. Me and you."

"GRANGER," his head whipped to face her full-on, eying the wistful expression warily. "Pray tell - " he said slowly. "What the actual _fuck_?"

"Don't you?" She went on, ignoring him. "Don't you miss having sex? It's a bit like an itch. Sometimes you can shift your focus away from it and it doesn't bother you anymore, but then _sometimes_ you want nothing more than to scratch and scratch and _scratch_."

He gaped at her.

She blinked, then looked at him as if she had just realized he was sitting next to her.

"We should have sex, don't you think?"

"EXCUSE ME?"

"Well," Granger mumbled, consciously working through a slur in her speech. Her bottom lip was nearly bitten raw from how often she pulled it between her teeth during their conversation. He couldn't – for the life of him – understand why she was so bloody anxious when _he_ was the one who had gotten assaulted with this information.

"It's highly practical." She explained, whether to herself or to him was unclear. "We're just friends, so it would have to be entirely non-committal and non-emotional. Purely physical."

Draco blinked. Frowned. Opened his mouth. Wisely shut it. Blinked again.

"_WHAT?"_

Then, in the middle of fucking nowhere, Granger succumbed to a massive yawn and curled up into a ball, clutching onto his thigh for dear life.

He frowned, shaking his leg to wake her up. "Granger," he tried. Nothing. "_Granger_," he hissed louder. Bloody brilliant. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Whispered nonsense and audible snoring ensued.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, eying the bushy-haired witch in his lap. "You're the worst," he told her.

In response, Granger turned over and clutched onto his shirt, inhaling his scent, and murmured what sounded an awful lot like, "Bloody terrible holiday," and "I tried, I tried, I tried."

* * *

**A/N - **Dedicated to _Campbema. _The next chapter will be up in about an hour, as well as a TAoB update xx


	28. All The Things, Part XIV

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XIV**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 14.

* * *

_#14 Your taste in music _

* * *

It was unsurprising to Draco that he would find Granger in the living room with the speakers blasting some repugnant pop song as she silently charmed the area clean – reorganizing the bookshelf in the corner, tidying the blankets and fluffing the pillows – as she sang along at the top of her tone-deaf lungs.

"IF YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE ME… DANCING WITH _SOMEBODY_," she wailed. "DON'T SHOW UP… DON'T COME OUT… DON'T START CARING…_ ABOUT ME NOW_…"

He gently placed his groceries down and crossed the flat to flick the volume of the music to a more appropriate level; he had been intent on teasing her for her choice in song, but then he caught the look on her face when she turned toward him.

Her eyes were bloodshot, and her cheeks were flushed a horrible speckled shade of crimson. Granger was puffy and strung out and he could see the evidence of her tears staining the old Hogwarts crewneck she wore.

"Granger?"

Draco blinked, unsure of how to handle the current situation that was the clearly wounded woman before him. It vastly depended on _why_ she was upset as to what he should do next.

"What - "

Before he could even finish his tentative inquiry, she dug through her sweats pocket and shoved several torn-up pieces of parchment into his hand. Draco waved his wand over them in order to bring them back to their former glory.

_You are cordially invited to attend the union of Lavender Brown and Ronald Bilius Weasley… _

He stopped reading to meet her furious gaze.

"It's this year," she finally said, breaking the silence. "It's in SIX BLOODY MONTHS."

He gulped. What the fuck was he supposed to say to _that_? Yes, Granger, that is what the invitation says and yes, that probably does indicate that the fucking bimbo has been knocked up rather untimely, or worse, that their so disgustingly eager to tie themselves to one another that they couldn't possibly wait any longer than absolutely necessary.

"Do you want to… talk about it?" He tried weakly, eyes flickering over her worriedly.

"No," she snapped at him, then sighed. "You know what I want, Malfoy?"

He shook his head, barely murmuring a "No," before she rounded on him, eyes wild and hair chaotic.

Granger wiped grossly at her nose, then let her eyes wander down his face, lingering on his lips before coming back up to meet his stormy eyes; they were fixed intently on hers, and his breath fell heavy and unevenly between them.

"We should have sex," she told him. "Like scratching an itch, remember? It can be purely physical if that's a concern for you."

Draco stared at her; it was laughable, really, that while he had been plagued with his indecision on whether or not it might be worth it to ruin their friendship over a kiss, she had evidently thought it was perfectly reasonable to blurt out that they should _fuck_ for the sake of _scratching an itch_.

She was nothing if not unpredictable and it drove him mad in every sense of the word.

"I - " He stammered. "You remember that? I thought you were so drunk that - "

She cut him off with an impatient nod, "Of course, I remember that."

"But you didn't say anything the next day." He pointed out.

Granger bit her lip, unhelpfully delivering him to a state of desire in which he had been fervently trying to avoid since the start of the new year. "Well, I thought you weren't interested and were simply too polite to tell me, so I… Anyway. Cleary, that's still the case, so never mind. Forget I said anything."

She turned to leave the room, and his hand shot out to close around her wrist, tugging her back to him. "I'm interested, Granger. Trust me, I am, but are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yeah," she shrugged. "I'm not interested in you like that, and I know you aren't with me. We're just friends." He let her hand drop, but she lifted it to swipe at a loose strand of hair that fell onto his forehead.

_Nothing more_.

Her words, not his and yet – there they were.

On the one hand, Draco had worked tirelessly to refrain from being physical with her because he knew that once he gave in to it – assuming before that she would even want to have sex with him – there would be no going back for him. He was a very touchy-feely person despite his hardened exterior and unfortunately physical intimacy was rather irresistible to him.

If they had sex, he would be _fucked_ both literally and metaphorically because then his muddle of emotions tying themselves in knots would probably intensify, or at the very least solidify, and that wasn't something he was prepared to heal from at the moment. In fact, he was actually in quite a fragile emotional state at the moment and having sex with Granger was going to only make it worse.

So, really, he shouldn't do it. He should politely tell her that he can't do it. He would blame it on their friendship – which she probably would logically debate and shoot down – or something because it wasn't as if he could tell her that he finds her utterly repulsive anymore since he _did_ still hope something might come of them later and that tended not to bode well with women.

He couldn't claim that it would be true even if he did tell her because, of course, he had come to find her quirks to be attractive the more time they spent together and the better he got to know her. He would also be lying if he claimed he didn't have a dream or two about having sex with her which brings him swiftly to his other, rather winning, hand.

Which was that not only did he very much want to take her in his arms and pleasure her until she called out his name like a prayer, but also he was a guy with needs – specifically needs that he wanted her to fulfil – and so it wasn't like this was as difficult a decision as it morally should have been for him.

Draco blinked.

She looked up at him, waiting. "So?"

He nodded, "Let's do it,"

"Brilliant," she replied, then she nodded toward the hallway leading to both of their bedrooms, "Well, shall we…?"

"Don't make a thing of it, Granger, I beg you."

A smirk crooked at her lips, "Begging already, Malfoy? I must say I expected you to last longer,"

He scoffed, "Believe me, I can last."

Her gaze trailed up and down his body pointedly, and when her warm, dilated eyes met his again, her lips twisted into a teasing smirk. "I hope so."

* * *

**A/N - **This one is for all of you that have been patiently waiting for the slow burn to evolve. Here's to the start of week two of this advent and the next phase in their relationship xx


	29. All The Things, Part XV

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XV**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 15.

* * *

_#15 You have a rule for bloody everything _

* * *

"So, in order to preserve this mutually beneficial flatmate and friend situation," she said gesturing to the general space between them. "I think we should implement some rules."

"Rules?" Draco frowned. "You're bloody joking, right? It's sex Granger, it's not one of your work projects that requires a contract or something, fuck."

"Ooh, a contract. That's actually - "

"No," he interrupted. "Absolutely fucking not. Don't even _think_ about it."

"Fine," she lamented. "I still want to lay out some ground rules though." He sighed and waved his wand to summon a fresh cup of tea, perching on the end of the sofa and motioning for her to continue. She pursed her lips, "Well, for starters, no emotions. It's purely physical, sex just for sex."

"You mentioned that already," he grumbled.

"Oh – and no sleeping with other people while this is going on."

Draco nearly choked on his tea, wiping at his mouth and glaring at her, "I'm sorry – WHAT THE FUCK?"

"Malfoy," she snapped impatiently, "That's hardly sanitary and not at all fair to me if you plan on - "

"No, no," he waved his hand brusquely. "Not that part. I'm on board with that. I was referring to your oh so casual implication that this particular tryst would be… what – reoccurring?"

"Oh," she gasped, blinking. "Right, well I just _assumed _\- "

"Ah, well that explains it, Granger. You know what they say about assuming things." He mused.

She rolled her eyes at him, "I should never had taught you that. Never mind then, why don't we leave that out of it for the moment? It's not like we know if sex between us will even be enjoyable or _good_, per se - "

"HEY," Draco sat up, crossing his arms. "How _dare_ you? Just because Weasley can't find your clitoris does _not_ mean - "

"YES, FINE," Granger shouted, shutting him up. "You are very talented in bed and I'm sure it has nothing at all to do with your fragile ego or Freudian need for touch and intimacy."

Draco grimaced, "Wow, Granger, you really know how to woo a man, don't you?"

She sighed, "This has absolutely nothing to do with that, and for the record I wasn't even _trying_ to woo you. If I was, you would know." Then she cut him off as he opened his mouth again.

"THE POINT IS," she paused, exhaling. "The point is that there should be no need for wooing or niceties just because sexual intercourse is involved. We should still be our usually, argumentative selves. It would be firstly less exhausting than having to pretend, and secondly, enable us to keep this strictly physical exertion between two friends."

"Fine," he muttered. "But if we're going to have sex, then I demand you take a long and intense shower first. Without me. This," he gestured to her sniffling sweatpants ensemble, "is not going to work for me. I don't plan on getting whatever Weasley tears you shed all over my suit. It's new." He sniffed.

Granger smiled, "That's more like it."

"TODAY, GRANGER."

"FINE, I'M GOING. THERE'S NO NEED TO _YELL_," she paused in the middle of the hallway and turned back to look at him, "Wait, there's something else."

"What is it now, Granger?"

"We need to swear on it. That we'll hold up to the rules."

He groaned, "For fuck's sake, on _what_?"

She shrugged, "A Bible?

"Neither of us are religious," He pointed out.

"Right," she frowned, then snapped her finger as an idea came to mind. In the next instant, she walked up to him with something in her hands. She held it out between them, "Put your right hand on it, Malfoy."

"What _is _it, Granger?"

"It's a DVD set, obviously."

He huffed impatiently, "You know very well I have no care for your muggle contraptions, Granger, or at least no more than the - "

"Yes, _I know_, Malfoy." She sighed, then held up the object to him. "It's a DVD set of _Bachelor in Paradise_, seasons one through five, so if you're quite done with your petulant tantrum - "

"Wait – what? But we haven't even seen those seasons, just the later ones," he protested, confused.

"YES, _I KNOW, _MALFOY – Ugh – I just – They _were_ going to be a Christmas present for you before we made the agreement not to buy gifts for each other, so - "

He cut her off with a rushed kiss, knocking the DVD set from her grasp and cupping her face in the palms of his hands. His lips fit perfectly around hers, and she leaned into him, welcoming it after getting over the initial moment of shock.

"What?" She gasped, breathless, when he released her. "I thought you said I needed to shower?"

"Yes," he said. "You still do, but I changed my mind. I'm going to join you."

"Oh… Well, alright then." Her face instantly brightened up. She sauntered towards the bathroom, and he followed suit. "Just so you know, I don't usually care for shower sex. It's uncomfortable and not very enjoyable."

"Honestly, I'm not a fan either. This will mostly be foreplay," he shrugged.

She began lifting her crewneck over her head, her curls springing loose from her bun and he reached out to take the drawstrings of her sweatpants from her.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Undressing myself," she shook her head at him. "_Obviously_. Honestly, Malfoy, you want me to believe you can bring me to orgasm if you can't even grasp this simple concept?"

He huffed, "I meant why are _you_ undressing yourself. I can do that."

"We're doing this as friends, remember?" She told him primly. "That means that you need to tone down any smuggery or game you usually use."

She expertly unclasped her bra from behind her back and dropped it onto the tile floor without even blinking. He, however, had to blink several times.

"Wow," he breathed, cupping both breasts in his hands.

"WHAT DID I _JUST_ SAY?" Granger barked before turning and swiftly entering the steamy shower.

"Fine," Draco groaned, shuffling out of his clothes and stepping into the hot water after her. "They aren't the most impressive as far as tits go, but they _do_ fit rather neatly in my hands so there is that."

Granger shot him an exasperated look, "Come on, Malfoy."

His gaze surveyed her naked body, and he pointedly paused at her tits before meeting her narrowed eyes. "Your right breast is slightly bigger, and I believe," – he bent his head absurdly close that definitely did not help his eyesight but did feel debauched – "your nipples aren't even, either."

"Much better," she smirked. She wrapped her arms around his neck and backed him up to the tile wall, kissing him fiercely. In between kisses she whispered, "My right breast may be bigger, Malfoy, but I implore you to give both equal attentions – OH – and also, do not touch my ears."

"Why are you - "

"Friends," she gasps as his lips move from her jaw to her neck. "For this to remain as – _oh_ – as platonic as possible I – _oh, fuck_ – we need to keep it casual and – _oh god, yes, there _– be honest. That would make it,"

She paused to moan as his fingers went from trailing along her inner thighs to brushing precariously around the lips of her cunt. Her own hand was wrapped around his pulsating cock, pumping it vigorously.

Draco was surprisingly pleased with her eagerness to pick up speed and rhythm on him; most girls – not that he'd really been with that many but… from his experience thus far – just assumed it was preferable to start of slow but sometimes –

"Oh, _fuck_, Granger," Draco hissed, gritting his teeth against her collarbone.

"To make it – _yesyesthere _– very satisfying," she exhaled, finally.

His eyes glinted, glancing up to see hers gratifyingly shut, and lips quirked into a sly smile.

"Don't worry, Granger," he winked. "It will be _very _satisfying."

* * *

**A/N - **This one is for _Perry Jackson, _thank you x


	30. All The Things, Part XVI

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XVI**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 16.

* * *

_#16 How you say my name _

* * *

Draco's knees ached and he briefly wondered why he was a twenty-something man with an eighty-something man's joints. He quickly administered a cushioning charm before returning his focus to his endeavours.

His tongue flicked over the cotton of her knickers, tasting the sweet slickness soaking through the fabric and smiling against it, giving the fabric a tug with his teeth for good measure. As expected, Granger writhed. He could feel her legs begin to tremble; his hands dug into her inner thighs in response.

"Malfoy," she gasped.

"Mhm," he murmured against her clit. Then, he poked his head up momentarily, giving her an admonishing glance. "What did I tell you about that?"

"We aren't in a bedroom," she hissed as he replaced his fingers where his tongue had been during their argument. "In case that particular detail – _oh _– slipped your mind – _fuck_,"

Draco chuckled, smirking up at her and sliding one of his fingers on the other side of the fabric, peeling it slowly down her legs.

"The _bedroom_ was metaphorical. The bathroom at the Leaky still counts," he said. "Say it."

His finger slipping inside of her, revelling in the ease of entry. She was so wet. He loved it. Then, he pulled out to encircle her for a few more seconds before inserting two fingers and smirking further at her sharp inhale.

"Say it," he repeated.

"Malfoy," she growled, stubborn as ever. He beamed.

"Say it."

Draco bent his head down again, pushing her knees further apart so that they fell on either side of the slim sink, and flicked his tongue against her throbbing clit. It didn't take very long then.

Granger inhaled sharply and quickly; a ragged and desperate motion.

"_Draco_," she finally choked out as she came.

He smiled mercilessly up at her – eyes closed and trying to catch her breath – and wiped at the corners of his mouth with his handkerchief. He loved the taste of her. So salty and sweet, just like her.

"Come on," he said to her. "Let's get out of here before any of the occupants notice and begin to spread nasty rumours that we're dating." He shuddered theatrically.

"Yes, good idea." She hopped down from the sink and patted her sundress down. "Wait," she frowned, and Draco immediately busied himself by studying his nails. "Malfoy," she drawled accusingly.

"Yes?" He asked too innocently.

"Give me back my knickers,"

He grinned. "No," he said, eying his fingernails. "Shan't."

"MALFOY,"

"Hm?"

"GIVE THEM BACK TO ME OR I SWEAR - "

He sighed and _tsk_-ed at her, "Careful, Granger, or you'll get us discovered, then we'll be reprimanded and we'll never be able to come back here for another hideously watered down pint of - " he broke off briefly, then continued, "on second thought, do go on. I loathe this establishment. Let's get kicked out – OOH – _banned_ even."

"MALFOY, WHERE ARE MY KNICKERS?"

"Hm?"

She slapped his shoulder and began immediately ransacking his suit pockets.

"My goodness, Granger," he gasped, backing away from her touch. "You can't possibly think that I have them _on me_, do you?" Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, you're right, of course. They _are_ on me, but still. How dare you presume."

He spoke the last sentiment with a false air of indignation, clutching at his chest like that of a recently widowed gold digger accused of being, in fact, a gold digger.

"I loathe you," she seethed; her eyes daggers.

He shrugged, "Eh, nothing new then."

There was a loud bang at the door immediately followed by, "OI, WHOEVER IS IN THERE COME OUT THIS INSTANT. DON'T BOTHER TRYING TO HIDE. WE CAN HEAR YOU. BOTH OF YOU!"

"Well," Draco noted, brushing lint off of his suit. "Shall we?"

"I thought you _wanted _to get banned?" She countered, arching her brow at him.

He took her hand in his and muttered, "Not today, we have errands to run," before apparating them both out of the Leaky and into Flourish and Blotts.

Granger wandered around like the bookworm she was, as lost to him as a kid in a candy store to a parent. In attempt to regain her interest, and simply because he was still slightly intoxicated from their drinks earlier, he beelined for the back corner knowing there must be a book in that section that would irritate her.

"Granger," he called out loudly and obnoxiously, "HEY GRANGER,"

She flushed brightly and apologized very Britishly to the store owner before weaving through the many display tables and hissing at him under her breath, "_What_?"

"Look," he showed her the book he'd selected, "When is Potter's birthday? It's soon, right? Do you think he'd like it?"

She blinked at him, "You'd buy Potter a gift? Why, Malfoy, that's so – Really? REALLY? – _Death Omens: What to Do When You Know the Worst is Coming_? Seriously?" Her brows furrowed, scolding him.

"I quite think he'd find it useful," Draco mused cheekily. She rolled her eyes and turned away, already holding several books of interest, and he grabbed her by her elbow to pull her back. "Wait," he said. "I found this one for you. I thought you might like it."

She eyed him warily, reading the title of the book and scowled.

He laughed to himself, placing the book back – it was _Cooking the Muggle Way_ by Mordicus Egg – and trailed behind her to the counter where she bought several educational books that were not at all worth poking fun at.

Swot jokes? Been there, done that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noted a women's magazine with an intriguing article supposedly from pages nine to twenty-one. He flipped to them out of curiosity as Granger paid for her books and then quickly slammed the magazine shut, eyes wide.

He slid it onto the counter and bought a copy.

Back at the flat, Granger noticed his odd protection of the magazine and acted out a ploy to steal it out of his hands. Once she had it, she stifled a gasp.

"_Witches Weekly_? Why would you ever - "

"SHUT UP, GRANGER," he shouted, snatching it back. "IT'S FOR OUR MUTUAL BENEFIT, ALRIGHT? _WILL YOU DESIST – _NO, DON'T – _OI, WHAT DID LITERALLY JUST – _OUCH, HOW DARE YOU!"

She blinked up at him, speechless for several moments and causing his swallow to catch at the back of his throat.

"Granger," he said tentatively.

She held up the magazine to page thirteen and pointed at the crude drawing, "Can we try this one first?"

"Really?" He asked, moving to stand beside her and flip a couple pages ahead. "I would've figured you were more of a page sixteen kind of witch."

She tilted her head, studying the drawing he pointed at. Then she said, "Por que no los dos?"

"Granger," he pursed his lips. "In the Queen's English."

She smirked at him, "Why not both?"

A mischievous smile spread across his lips and he roughly threw her onto the sofa without warning. Then, he turned on his heel and poked around the cabinet drawers, "Now… where is that rope?"

"What about the blindfold?" She called out, popping her head of wild curls up to peer at him from the other side of the sofa.

"We'll use one of my silk ties, of course," he scoffed. "Come on, Granger, we're hardly amateurs so there's really no point in pretending."

* * *

**A/N - **As it turns out Emma Watson was just in Leicester Square hiding editions of _Little Women _(including some notes she wrote inside) and I was literally RIGHT THERE that day and totally missed it *cries*

In other words this chapter is dedicated to _Varanus Salvator _x


	31. All The Things, Part XVII

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XVII**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 17.

* * *

_#17 You hate quidditch _

* * *

Malfoy checked his watch for the tenth time. He knew that Granger hated being late and usually made an effort to be _just_ on time because it drove her mad. It was the little things that he took immense pleasure in.

Granger despised tardiness; it was unnatural for her. She had told him as much once when they _barely_ made it to a film on time. (She considered missing the previews to be a sin, though Draco couldn't relate; he found them to be a massive bore.)

"MALFOY," she shouted, her footsteps echoing loudly through the flat as she stormed into his bedroom.

"Salazar's balls," he swore under his breath as he checked the time again. "Here we go,"

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS TAKING YOU SO LONG? IS IT BECAUSE YOU'RE DOING THAT HAIR GEL CHARM AGAIN? I TOLD YOU THAT YOU NEED TO WORK ON THAT. BESIDES, YOU DON'T NEED TO LOOK NICE FOR THIS. YOU ALWAYS LOOK NICE. IN FACT, I DON'T THINK IT'S EVEN POSSIBLE FOR YOU _NOT_ TO, SO COULD YOU BLOODY - "

She cut herself off abruptly.

Draco loosened his tie, then turned to arch a blond brow at Granger's ensemble. She was dressed head to toe in blue; her small frame was swallowed up by an oversized jersey of his and her neck made invisible by an enormous, woolly, blue and white scarf.

Granger groaned, "What are you doing? Hurry up, Malfoy,"

"Afraid we're going to be late?" He taunted. "I didn't know you liked quidditch so much, Granger." His lips quirked upwards into a smirk.

She sniffed, "I hate it."

"Hm, yes." Draco commented, pointedly not continuing to get ready. "I can see that. How silly of me to confuse your enthusiastic timeliness and complete fanatic ensemble for genuine interest in the match. You know it's just a friendly, right?"

"It is _not_ a friendly, Malfoy." She insisted. "This is important! This is your _first _match of the season! SO," Granger huffed loudly. "I'M GOING TO NEED YOU TO PUT ON YOUR GEAR FASTER THAN A SNAIL'S PACE OR WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE,"

He smirked, "Granger, we won't be late. It takes precisely two minutes for me to change out of my work clothes, four minutes for me to put my quidditch uniform and gear on, and half a minute for me to walk down the hall and through the floo with you."

"That's - " She sputtered. "That's - "

Draco flicked his wrist toward him languidly and checked his watch.

"Precisely the amount of time we have to leave?"

Granger opened her mouth to protest, then shut it and narrowed her eyes. He chuckled knowing that he had her there_. Check, Granger_, he thought.

She slid her wand out and waved it around his room, enabling an organized chaos that Draco had no choice but to witness. His clothing was stripped from his body, leaving him shivering for the fifty seconds before his blue quidditch uniform levitated out of his closet and onto his bare limbs.

Finally, Granger applied a couple of charms meant to keep his hair out of his eyes and his eyes focused; their greyness concentrated on a fleck of dust caught in the space between them. Draco plucked it out of the air and then met her warm, brown eyes.

They sparkled, knowing just how impressive her spell work was from what was no-doubt a look of awe across his face.

"Now," she sighed, tapping her foot impatiently and flickering her eyes toward his watch. "I believe that leaves us with three and a half minutes to make it to the floo. Do you think you can manage that, Malfoy?"

He shook his head, "You're a menace, Granger."

"Yes, quite." She dimpled, her lips twisting upwards. "But I'm _your_ menace." She spun on her heel and directed herself toward the floo, calling out over her shoulder as she turned around the corner of his doorway, "COME ON. I AM NOT LETTING YOU BE LATE TO YOUR FIRST MATCH,"

Draco smiled, then followed after her.

Seconds after arriving at the recreational field, however, Granger bit her lip and grimaced as the wind tussled her curls vehemently. "Oh, fuck," she said. "I forgot a bobble." She glanced back and forth the field where several young men and women were gathered in sky blue or crimson red. "I'll just – Bloody hell but I don't want to miss the opening – I suppose I could just leave it…"

Draco slipped a hand from his glove and dove through his gym bag. He felt for the tiny pocket he kept a handful of bobbles in – he had gotten in the habit of always keeping a few handy for her.

"Here," he stated, holding it out for her to take.

"Oh," she gasped, beaming. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he winked.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Granger replied, rolling her eyes.

The match was quick. Thanks to Granger's remarkable charm, Draco's eyesight was far better than usual, and he had no problem finding the snitch and ending the game with a win for his team. Granger had cheered him on the entire time, and every time he soared past her position on the side lines, it caused his chest to creak and expand to better accompany the inhale of breath.

He stepped off the broom with barely enough time to drop it as Granger came bounding across the grass, leaping into his arms. Her hands wrapped around his neck tightly, pulling him down to her height (or lack thereof).

"Whoa, Granger," he said through a laugh. His voice was muffled by the heavy scarf she wore.

She pressed her lips to his cheek, then murmured, "That's for doing so well," in his ear. A moment later, before he could even think of a witty response, she stepped out of his embrace and pounded a fist into his heaving chest.

"What the bloody hell was that for?"

Her nose wrinkled, "That's for dragging me all the way out here for a fucking _five-minute match_."

Draco scoffed, "Please, Granger, no one _dragged _you here. There's no need to be dramatic," he said, giving her a pointed look as he took off his outer gear.

"Well," she replied snottily. "I went through a lot of effort to dress up and I hardly feel like the sports outfit was put to good use."

He smirked.

"What a shame," he said, trailing his fingers down the thin, buttery soft fabric of the jersey. It reminded him of _her_ velvet softness. "I could make it up to you?"

Granger, catching on to his suggestive tone, stopped.

"Oh?"

His eyes glinted, "Are you busy?"

She blinked, "What? Right now?" He nodded his affirmation. "No," she drawled. "But I do have dinner plans with Harry in a bit."

"When?" He pressed.

Granger's breath hitched as her eyes dropped from his grey, stormy eyes to his lips. "It was originally in an hour but when the match ended I owled him and he moved up the reservation." She blinked, meeting his gaze again, "You should come."

"Hm," Draco hummed, unravelling the scarf around her neck slowly, brushing his lips against the back of her neck. "I'm more concerned about you coming."

Another hitch in her breathing.

"When did you say you had to meet Potter?" He asked, tugging her toward him by the belt loops in her jeans.

"Fifteen minutes," she exhaled.

"That should be enough time…"

He grabbed his wand and cast a couple of disillusion charms over them, then dropped to his knees. He pulled at her zipper at a torturously slow rate.

"Enough time? For what?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper now.

"To make you come," Draco replied flatly. "I'm aiming for twice, but I can guarantee once." He shifted to trace his tongue across her, soaking the cotton and causing a tremble in her legs.

"No," Granger said firmly and Draco – being the respectful gentleman that he is – teetered away from her.

"No?" He blinked.

"No," she confirmed, sounding surer of herself this time. "No, I'm going to make _you_ come twice in," – she paused to check the watch sitting in his gym bag – "thirteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds."

Granger lifted him up into a standing position, kissing him fervently. Her tongue slid along his swollen, lower lip but when he parted his lips to welcome it, she had already dropped to her knees and cast a cushioning and mud-repellent charm over herself.

She looked up at him, "I may hate quidditch," she informed him primly. "But I do _love_ this."

_Fuck_ _me_, he swore internally; a hiss escaping between gritted teeth in reality.

* * *

**A/N - **This one is dedicated to _amber.131 _for being #100 with TAoB, thank you.

To _Perry Jackson _\- holy fuck are you kidding me!? that would make my day and I would love you and write an entire fic or whatever you want if you could make that happen! I cannot PM you since you are anon so please let me know how you want to proceed (I'm screaming you have no idea how happy that made me)


	32. All The Things, Part XVIII

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XVIII**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 18.

* * *

_#18 Your incessant need for order _

* * *

"This is ridiculous, Granger," Draco muttered, stepping through the floo and brushing off the speck of ash that dared to land on his lapel.

She inched her way out of the flames seconds after he vacated the fireplace with her hands already settling on her hips. "Hey," she huffed defensively. "_You _are the one, may I remind you, Malfoy, that wanted to finally understand all of my muggle-isms."

"Well," he protested, leading her expertly through the Manor to avoid any triggering rooms. "I didn't realize that I was signing up for _punishment_ in doing so. This is torture. This is NOT AT ALL what I had in mind and I vehemently detest it and wish to return back to the flat immediately."

Though he did not sound vehement whatsoever nor did he stop weaving them through the marble floored hallways.

Granger rolled her eyes. "Your wish is noted," she remarked, "and also declined."

"Balls," he mumbled, opening the door for her.

However, before either of them could step through it and descend into the garage, a trilling voice sounded behind them causing both their heads to whip around.

"Darling!" Narcissa cooed, taking Draco's face between her cold hands and kissing both his cheeks. He returned the sentiment, murmuring his own greeting as she stepped away and slid her pale eyes over to the bushy-haired witch standing beside him.

"Narcissa," Granger said, smiling broadly. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm wonderful, my dear. How are you? I presume my son isn't driving you too crazy in that tiny little flat of yours?"

Draco stifled a round of coughs at the implication that _he_ was the troublesome flatmate among them. Granger, astoundingly, flashed a polite smile and kept up nearly expert aristocratic appearances.

The two women bantered and flirted like old friends and Draco suddenly felt a trickle of jealously flare up his spine. He took Granger's arm in his and tugged her away from his mother, "Come on," he growled in her ear.

Then, nodded to his mother and begged her forgiveness for they were late to be somewhere. Narcissa merely dimpled, waving the two of them off before turning on her heel and angling herself down the long hallway with echoed clicks of her heel.

"Malfoy," Granger taunted with a smirk, "I didn't realize you cared so much about tardiness."

"Shut the fuck up, Granger," he breathed, rolling his slate eyes at her twinkling chestnut ones. He slid into the sleek car and turned over the keys, depending on muscle memory from learning how to drive a muggle car to get them to the store in one piece.

"Why do you even own one of these?" She asked him, adding, "A left here, then second exit," as she gestured with a flick of her hand where he should go.

Draco shrugged, "Father believed it was important to have certain muggle things in order to keep up appearances whenever we had to travel through muggle London."

When they finally reached their destination – a massive supermarket named Tesco – Draco parked the car and swiftly moved to the other side in order to open the door for Granger.

"I can do that myself," she remarked drily. "Besides," she added, gathering her bloody abominable reusable bags (Draco was eco-friendly, it was not the fact that they were reusable that was so abhorrent, but rather the hideous cat pattern across them). "It's not even remotely a simple friend gesture. The rules?"

He pursed his lips at her arched brow and countered it with one of his own, "So, am I supposed to cease my chivalrous behaviour because it makes you feel – What? – less independent? Swallow your feminist pride, Granger, I'm hardly trying to belittle your capabilities to open your own door."

She took a cart – one that oddly enough did not wheel itself around beside you or recommend any recipes for dinner – and directed them toward what appeared to be the deli section.

"I know that," she snapped, then sighed. "I know you would never – Wait – What the bloody hell?" She cut herself off and Draco blinked as well.

There was an enormous crowd gathered around the cold cuts counter, every person in it angling to get seen by the next available staff member.

He scoffed, resting his arm across her shoulders and revelled in the fact that her immediate response was to wrap her arm around his waist. "I don't see why you were so keen to introduce me to your muggle grocery stores. Do they all display this level of anarchy or this chaos special to your particular corner store?"

She pinched him.

"Ouch! Fuck, _Granger_," he grimaced, but the time he thought to rebuke, she had already let him go and shoved her way through the angered customers to the front of the mess. Draco inclined his blond head to see her unruly curls bobbing furiously as she spoke to one of the two staff members behind the counter.

"Well?" He pressed as she sidled up next to him again.

"The ticket counter is broken," she lamented. "They use a little machine that produces numbered tickets and it is meant to supplement a queue. Without it - "

"No queue." He finished. She nodded, her face contorting in displeasure. "Then what – Hey, wait – _Granger_,"

She moved a nearby empty bin and turned it over to stand on it so that she towered above everyone in the crowd, then shouted at the top of her lungs. No one moved. Granger grimaced, and Draco caught the slight slip of her sleeve as she pressed the tip of her wand to her throat.

"HEY!"

Every head turned at once. Absolute silence.

Granger huffed, her chest rising and falling dramatically, then she continued at a normal volume.

Draco wasn't exactly sure _how_ she did what she did next, but fuck did she do it well. She managed to interrogate every single person waiting for their cold cuts and formulated a queue based on when each of them arrived. He caught various phrases and chuckled under his breath at her insistence on following rules and restoring order.

"You said you called your mother when you got here to ask her which type of ham she wanted? What time was that call? Yes, ok, then you need to stand here."

Shuffled footsteps.

"Sir," – a nod and a flick of her wrist as she beckoned a man over – "Yes, you. You stand up here in front of this lovely woman. Tell your wife your receipt from earlier was very helpful when you had to go back for her favourite sandwich meat."

A grateful smile.

"HEY!" She called. Brows furrowed at some younger children trying to cut her newly formed line. "Get back there. No, I'm sorry, but your game was saved only ten minutes ago so there was no way you were here earlier than that."

Finally, she had succeeded in providing everyone with a number. Draco smirked at her as they took their position at the very back of the very long line.

She smiled up at him, "That was fun."

_That was hot_, he thought.

"You," he breathed, shaking his head and laughing, "are an absolute nightmare."

"Eh," she shrugged. "I've heard worse."

Draco tugged at her hand, pulling her away from her precious queue, "Come with me."

"Huh?" Granger blinked. "What? Why? We still have to get that prosciutto for tonight's wine night. Didn't you _specifically_ want it because it paired well or whatever?"

He sighed, taking her hand regardless of her protests and sneaking her into an open corner and waving his wand to cast a disillusionment charm over them. "Yes, Granger," he said, propping her up on the wall and wrapping her legs around his waist. "It pairs very well. No _whatever _about it."

Her lips brushed against his as she tried to continue arguing, but he silenced her by pressing his roughly to hers.

"Noted," she exhaled, breathless.

* * *

**A/N -** Chapter seven (of ten, omg!) has been posted for TAoB. This one is for _Belle2249 _for being #100 with _Revelations_, thank you xx


	33. All The Things, Part XIX

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XIX**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 19.

* * *

_#19 The way a summer holiday looks on you _

* * *

"MALFOY WILL YOU JUST TAKE IT ALREADY," Granger wailed, shoving a short glass into his hand, spilling some of its overflowing contents over his fingers.

"_Godric,_" she huffed, taking hers and dragging him away from the bar with two more drinks levitating above her head. Somehow, Granger had managed to find a wizarding-friendly hotel in the center of Barcelona. "I never thought _I _would be demanding that _you_ take shots."

"Granger," Draco grimaced, eying the clear liquid. "It's _tequila_ and it's _cheap_. Those are two things I very much DETEST."

She rolled her eyes, setting the drinks down on a little table and lying back on the long chair. There were limes and a shaker of salt already set up on the table, awaiting the sting of their teeth and the flick of their tongues.

"Suck it up," Granger remarked, then something glinted dangerously behind the warmth of her brown eyes, made even more alluring by the sun shining down on them. "Here," she said, shifted to sit beside him. "I'll make it easier for you."

Two of her fingers slipped between her lips, her tongue wetting them gregariously, and then she swiped them across the vein popping out on her neck. With the air of practice and the movements of a slightly intoxicated woman, she tipped the salt across the slickness of her neck. The citrus wedge was then settled firmly in her mouth, held by her teeth.

She was ready for him.

She was ready for him – and Draco swallowed the dryness in the back of his throat with difficulty. But Granger had been right. This _did _make it easier for him to want to down the horribly cheap shot of tequila.

He leaned forward, brushing her fingertips across her bare shoulder, tracing the freckles that showed up over the past few days after their hours spent under the Spanish sun. He caught the goosepimples that rose on her skin at his touch and decided to play this out.

Granger was hardly a patient woman, but Draco knew that the longer he dragged out the foreplay, the better the climax for her would be. For both of them.

It was too tempting not to give into it.

He slid his fingers across to her spine, pressing them into every vertebra as he shifted closer to her, taking her thigh between his other hand and squeezing it, tracing small circles across her inner thigh.

Taunting her.

Teasing her.

As she did to him –

_Always._

Draco leaned into her, bending his head to brush his lips against the bronzed skin of her clavicle and smirked at the advantageous view of her breasts in the bikini top. He murmured, "Nothing more," against her lips so low that he knew she wouldn't hear it.

A shiver ran up her spine, and Draco smirked again, digging his one hand into the small of her back while the other continued its circular torment of her inner thigh.

Finally, he brought his lips to her throat, kissing at the base of her jaw before lifting his hand from her leg to tug at her messy ponytail and expose her neck more to him. His tongue slid slowly across the salty path and licked it away with gratifying pleasure.

He barely backed away from the warmth of her body – the heat of _her_ – and only just enough to tip the double-shot down his own burning throat. It stung as predictably as he imagined it would, but the pain vanished the moment he tore the lime from her mouth and sank his teeth into it

She gasped as he spat out the wedge and pressed his lips to hers, taking her breath in his. Her fingers wrapped around his neck, winding through the short blond strands of his hair and gripping them. Her nails left marks at the back of his neck and he bit at her bottom lip, then pulled away.

Her eyes were glazed over, bloodshot and unfocused.

Draco imagined he didn't look entirely too different.

He felt the rush of the tequila, the bravery of it, wash over him and wondered if this was what it felt like to possess Gryffindor courage. The flicker of her eyes to his lips and then lower again answered his question.

He wrapped a hand around her small wrist and arched a silver brow, "Your turn, Granger."

She swallowed visibly, averting her gaze to reach for the salt. He shook his head, taking it from her grasp.

"Not here," he murmured.

Another shudder, and then a smirk spreading slowly across her lips.

He put the salt down on the table, then stood and held out his hand for her to take, which she did. Once she was up, he pulled her in close to him; his hand pressing once again at her lower back, feeling for the familiar dip where his fingertips traced her dimples.

She leaned into his touch, then sighed and pulled away from him, shaking her head.

"Not yet," she lamented. "I have other plans."

"Oh?" Draco tested. "Would those plans happen to involve the _Witches Weekly_ you packed?" He smirked, "I hope you don't think I didn't notice you slip that in at the last second."

She rolled her eyes, "_Not yet_." But the laugh that escaped her lips caused a murderous flutter in his chest (and penis, unhelpfully).

Granger turned and wrapped a translucent skirt over her bikini, then picked up one of the mojitos from the table, handing him the other one. "Come on, Malfoy," she trilled, leading him further down the beach. "We have somewhere to be."

Draco followed obediently, sipping at the well-made drink and eying the ocean ahead of them. The sand slid between his bare feet, getting _everywhere_ and while he absolutely hated that particular part of this holiday, he had to admit it was a small sacrifice.

Seeing Granger sway her newly tanned hips in front of him was well worth it.

"Where are we going?" He protested, picking up the pace to fall in step beside her. He nudged her playfully, "You don't plan on _drowning me_, do you?"

She elbowed him back, "Not _yet_," and laughed loudly at his responding grimace. "Relax, Malfoy, it's a _good_ surprise. One, I hope, that you will like."

"Hope? How utterly compassionate of you, Granger. Don't you recall this little arrangement of ours is simply platonic? I insist that you cease your attempts to seduce me, this instant." He sniffed, feigning disgust. "Whatever it is, it won't work."

Her lips formed a thin, disapproving line, but before she could comment on his remarks, a bronzed figure appeared before them in all of his muscular glory. Draco frowned, incapable of hiding his distaste for how closely the man was standing to Granger.

"Miss Granger?" He asked in heavily accented English. She nodded, and his smile broadened. "Excellent. This is your _compadre_, I take it?"

"Yes," she noted, flashing the man a genuine, dazzling smile. "This is my _friend_, Draco."

The man turned to him for a fleeting moment, only long enough to offer a polite nod, then brought his radiant attention back to her. He jerked his thumb over his sculpted shoulder and grinned.

"Wonderful. Shall we head over to the dock, then? _Paradise_ awaits," he winked. Draco's frown deepened as Granger followed him further down the shore.

Draco reached out for her wrist, tugging her back slightly out of earshot, and murmured, "What's this?"

His tone could have used some warmth, which he was certain she noticed. Her dark brow arched momentarily, but within seconds a polite expression washed over her face, coating her features in ignorant, innocent bliss.

"_This_," she replied emphatically, "is the surprise."

Without another word – or remotely any explanation at all – she left to follow the bronzed half-god onto a large, posh sailboat. _Paradise_ was scripted beautifully on the side of the gleaming ship, though Draco doubted this adventure would be anything but torment for him.

He sidled up next to Granger on the boat and tried not to openly loathe the way the other man's eyes followed her every movement.

* * *

**A/N - **This update is dedicated to _rkc1991_ xx


	34. All The Things, Part XX

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XX**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 20.

* * *

_#20 That thing you do with your hips _

* * *

"MALFOY, FOR FUCK'S SAKE IF I HAVE TO DRAG YOU OUT OF HERE BY YOUR PRIVILEGED EAR, I _WILL_ SO CAN YOU JUST - "

Granger broke off, blinking.

Draco glanced up to meet her widened chestnut eyes and coughed, stifling a chuckle in it. He gestured to the bar seat in front of the island, "Please, Granger, cease your incessant and shrill wining and have a seat, hm?"

The glint in his eyes sparkling with a hint of underlying mischief, but nonetheless she sat.

"What's this?" She asked, frowning at the array of ingredients and bottles on the counter. "What are you doing?" Her voice was clipped as she drew her will back to the complaint she stormed in with. "We're going to be late," she added, "and I would very much like to make it to the party this evening."

He twirled his wand clockwise above the two drinks, then handed one to her. "Drink."

"Malfoy - "

"GRANGER DRINK THE BLOODY DRINK,"

"FINE!"

Her lips parted to welcome the liquid only slightly. She savoured it, tasting its bitterness on her tongue before glancing up to meet his slate, narrowed gaze.

"Well?" He prompted, flicking his wrist impatiently.

"It's good," she muttered. "Great, actually. Better than the ones we've been ordering at the bar."

"Hm," he smirked. "I thought so."

"Don't let this - " She began to warn him, but he shook his head, taking a sip of his own concoction.

"Go to my head?" He finished with a wink. "Too late, Granger."

He was very good at charms, and particularly at ones involved in hosting duties. Which roughly translated into his ability to whip up a fucking _killer_ mojito.

"Alright," he said once they'd finished their third round of drinks – though slurred was a tad bit more accurate – "We better get going or we're definitely going to miss the festivities."

He stood, then helped her up and kept a hand on her back as she swayed slightly on her tiny heels. So impractical for her, but he appreciated how they accentuated the curve of her calves.

Which were easily visible in her attire that evening and, against what he presumed to be impossible, Granger had actually dressed herself impeccably for once.

The long, flowy skirt she wore tied at her hip brought attention to the angle of her hipbones and whose slit was so precariously wide that the skirt really only covered the back of her legs. Her top, equally impractical, made Draco immediately protective over her cleavage, though he bit his lip from mentioning anything.

"OH, FUCK NO," she bellowed animatedly. "WE ARE _NOT_ MISSING THE FUN ON OUR LAST NIGHT HERE!"

He laughed, and by the time they had made it downstairs to the beach party, he felt the recklessness of the alcohol begin to seep into his veins.

The beat of the reggaetón music blaring through the speakers above them served to further Granger's instability as her hips swayed back and forth to the rhythm, her feet stepping back and forth like the many others surrounding them.

"Dance with me," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and directing his hips to move alongside hers.

Draco smiled inwardly as she continued to teach him to dance, turning him and prompting him to spin her as the songs escalated. Soon, they were both stumbling and twirling with stupid grins on their faces; the Caribbean flutes piercing the drunken roar in their ears.

One song in particular, he remembered from one of her playlists that he listened to, because it was exceptionally catchy (and it contained quite a bit of English for him to follow more easily).

"_Crazy,_" Granger sang along, smiling at him beneath hooded lashes and humid-teased curls. "_I like that. You like that. So, let's be crazy._"

He pulled her in close to him, then let her dance away as he sang along to the next line, "_The concept. The impact. I want that daily."_

They continued to sing together, and dance; stepping close enough to feel the heat of each other and smell the perspiration mixed with perfume, but always a breath away. Neither closing the gap and letting the taunts of the lyrics and the absence of touch ignite a flame.

_Our breath getting deeper, deeper lately._

Granger slammed the hotel door behind them, pressing him against the wall next to it and returning her feverish mouth to his. A low growl of want – of _need_ – escaped his lips and he felt dizzy. She was dizzying, and he was constantly at a loss in her presence. Always out of breath because she took it with every glance, and every kiss.

_I like that, baby, 'cause I can't get enough._

His hands dug into her waist, scraping against her ribcage as he flipped them and secured her against the wall. A little rough in the manoeuvre; firstly, because he knew she liked it, and secondly, because he got a little carried away after the torturously long foreplay at the party.

_Yeah, I can't get enough._

Her hands unbuttoned his shirt clumsily at first, trembling as her fingers grazed his bare chest. But then she seemed to gain confidence in the task, slowing her movements and leaning to brush her lips against his neck, sucking at it and probably tasting the salt formed on the dancefloor. Meanwhile, his fingers trailed up her hot skin, lifting her leg so that her thigh rested above his hip.

_I can't get enough of your love, give me some more of it._

Draco took his time pleasuring her still, despite the slickness already present when his palm cupped her cunt. She came with his name on her lips – _DracoDracoDraco _– and he groaned, moaning into her unruly curls as she quickly shifted to take his length in her palm. He was throbbing and so, _so_ dangerously close.

_I can't get enough._

The desperation between them, the absolute chemistry, was undeniable and release was close – maddeningly so. He entered her slowly, marvelling at how well she fit around him; how her body welcomed him and wrapped around him, pulling him deeper and deeper and _deeper_.

'_Cause I can't get enough._

He couldn't let go of her. Miraculously, though, she seemed to be holding onto him just as desperately, if not more so; her nails digging into his burning skin. He came, _hard_ and with her name on his lips. It felt like a prayer and a curse all in one, and he couldn't stop himself.

"Hermione," he breathed.

* * *

**A/N - **Dedicated to _ForsakenKalika _and _jacpin2002 _(yes, again haha, thank you for the amazing 100th review). To _LarryFND _\- I know I'm writing this but believe me, fucking same. xx


	35. All The Things, Part XXI

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XXI**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 21.

* * *

_#21 You are a talented liar_

* * *

"Are you really that upset about this?" Granger asked, pursing her lips.

Draco shot her a vehement glare, tightening his black silk tie – not because it needed it, his charms were impeccable, but because it gave him something to do with his nervous hands.

"Will you _desist_?" She snapped, taking one of his hands and lacing it between her own. She held onto him, dragging him through the green flames sparking in their flat and out of the floo at Malfoy Manor.

Draco immediately fought a grimace forming across his face at the spectacular extravaganza his mother had planned for him.

"I hate this," he remarked drily, and under his breath as he began greeting guests so that only Granger could hear him. "I fucking _loathe_ this."

"Interesting," she said between a brilliant smile offered to a guest of his that definitely did not deserve it based on whose side he fought on at the Battle. Granger looped her arm in his as they slowly made their way through the ballroom, toward his mother. "I thought you _loved_ birthdays. I specifically recall, Malfoy, that you were very adamant about celebrating mine."

She arched an accusatory and mocking brow at him, deepening his scowl.

"That was different," he gritted out.

"Hm," she replied, though it was little more than a chuckle hidden by a cough.

"Oh, my darlings!" Narcissa cooed, embracing them both extraordinarily formally. "How wonderful to see you both here and looking so lovely together!" Her dark eyes twinkled at their somewhat coordinated formal dress wear before she turned to her son.

"Mother," he said, kissing her cheeks.

"Draco," she smiled. "My darling son," her cold hands traced the side of his face. "Happy Birthday, my love."

"Thank you, Mother," he forced out, feeling his cheeks begin to ache from all of the smiling.

And it was only beginning.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Granger began, her voice light and like that of church bells as she dimpled at the host.

"Oh, dear," she reprimanded affectionately. "You know we are _far_ beyond those formalities, even for an occasion such as this. Please, Hermione,"

"Right, of course." Granger blinked, managing to let her smile widen sincerely. "Narcissa, I'm afraid I have to trouble you with a favour?"

"Hm," the woman breathed, pursing her lips. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm afraid," her gaze flickered momentarily to Draco before settling back on the calculating eyes of his mother. "The gift I purchased for your son was rescheduled to arrive _today_ and I must be present at the flat in order to sign off for it. You know how irritating the post can be when the package is too big for an owl," she sighed, shaking her head.

"I have to leave," Granger emphasized. Her chestnut eyes, once again, flickered over Draco's slate ones. "Draco doesn't have to come with me, of course. I'm sure I can manage the enormous package without his help, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind waiting another day to receive it. He can stay for this marvellous celebration you put on for him." She squeezed his arm before letting it drop from hers. "He _should_ stay."

"What?" Draco blinked, aghast. "Granger, you can't be serious." He noticed his mother's eyes glint and then leaned in closer to Granger. "You are _not_ leaving me here. How very _dare_ you. I'm never going to teach you another recipe or do another page from that bloody magazine, I _swear _\- "

"No, no," Narcissa interrupted, shooing the two of them away from her. "Nonsense, Hermione. My son will accompany you, of course, and he will help with the package delivery." She shot him a warning glare, "Like the wonderful gentleman he is, won't you Draco?"

"Yes," he replied instantly. "Right."

He blinked several times, unsure of what was happening but tugging Granger away at the first break in conversation and aimed for the floo hastily, tossing a wide-eyed shrug over at Theo and Daphne in the corner.

They emerged back into the flat and Draco rounded on Granger.

"I THOUGHT WE AGREED NO GIFTS? WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT GETTING ME AN ENORMOUS GIFT? ONE _SO BLOODY BIG _THAT THE FUCKING OWLS CAN'T DELIVER IT?"

Granger merely smirked.

She crossed her arms over the champagne satin gown and chuckled, "You are so gullible, you know that, don't you, Malfoy?"

"I – What? – What are you talking about?" He demanded.

Granger took his wrist and led him over to the sofa, flicking the tele on and setting up the newest season of _Bachelor in Paradise_ before sauntering over to the kitchen while the credits rolled.

Draco sat, dumbstruck, as the smell of popcorn wafted through the flat.

"Granger," he blinked. "What the _fuck_ is hap - "

"_This_," she announced, reappearing with two bags of popcorn as well as his favourite wine, "is your birthday gift."

"Huh?"

She laughed, propping her feet over his lap and kicking off her heels, setting the stem glass in his hand, then smirking.

"You - " He stuttered. "You did that on purpose? You lied to my mother?"

Granger nodded vigorously.

"Holy fuck," he breathed, eying the goodies and their comfortable seating as the opening scene of the episode began. "Holy _fuck_. You are a goddess. I – I can't even – _fuck_, Granger."

"Your welcome, Malfoy," she winked, then swatted his arm lightly. "Now, close your mouth before any pixies find their way in it. I haven't allotted time today for a trip to St. Mungo's."

"Oh?" He said, regaining some sense of control over his thoughts. "Have you made up an entire itinerary for today? It's not just this, then?"

She scoffed, "Hell no. I have an entire _evening_ of celebration planned for you. None of it," she added with a pointed finger, noticing the protest on the edge of his lips, "involving anyone else. Honestly, _I _can even disappear and leave you to complete solitude if that's what you want."

Granger shrugged, plopping a handful of buttery popcorn in her mouth.

Malfoy's lips quirked into a smirk, and he flicked his wand to pause the episode.

"What are you doing?" She asked, brows furrowed.

"You," he replied sulkily. Draco placed the food and drinks on the coffee table and then pulled her further down the sofa by wrapping his hands around her dainty ankles. "You," he said again. "Are all I want for my birthday."

Her lips twitched into a wry smile as his hands slid up her legs and peeled the satin from her burning skin. Draco leaned in close, inhaling the smell of roses that was just so perfunctorily _her_ and revelled in it for a solid minute before pressing his lips to hers.

She gasped in his mouth and slid her tongue along his bottom lip. Her hands, always exploratory, immediately began unbuttoning his shirt and loosening the tie he had taken extraneous care to keep secure.

"Are you sure?" She murmured as he broke away to place kisses along her jaw.

"Hm?"

"Are you sure," she repeated, "that this is what you want?"

He knew – Draco _knew_ – what she really meant by that question and was completely thrown off by it. For how could he want anything else? But – he hesitated.

_Nothing more –_

_Purely physical –_

He blinked, burying his face in her neck and taking another long inhale of the sweet floral scent before nipping lightly at the fragile skin beneath her collarbone.

"Yes," he replied, aiming for nonchalance. His tone sounded off, so he threw in a shrug of his shoulders and another playful bite. "Sure, Granger. This is fun. This is easy, and it – it doesn't mean anything, right?"

His grey eyes lifted to meet hers. Her pupils were dilated, nearly encompassing the warm brown of her eyes, but her lips parted momentarily before twisting into a gentle smirk.

"Right, yeah," she finally said, nodding.

"Good," he said, chewing the inside of his cheek and wishing he'd been braver – that he'd risked it, risked their friendship and their living situation, risked it all. For her. But he didn't. Again.

"Good," Granger agreed.

* * *

**A/N - **Sorry this one is late, I went out last night and it totally slipped my mind to upload it before I left! The next one will be up shortly. This one is for _nideat _xx


	36. All The Things, Part XXII

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XXII**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 22.

* * *

_#22 When you got me sick_

* * *

"GRAAAAANGER,"

No response.

"GRAAAAAAAANNNNNNGEEEEEEEERRRRRR,"

Stomping, getting closer. A door slamming against the wall.

"BLOODY HELL, MALFOY," Granger shouted, emerging in his blurred vision. "What is it now? What do you want?" Her hands rested on her hips disapprovingly and he grimaced.

"Hey," he said, his voice morphed into some muted and obnoxious ruin by the amount of mucus setting up camp in his sinuses. He sniffled a few times, trying to regain his breath before he went on. "_You _are the one who got me sick."

Her eyes narrowed, but he could see the rest of her posture had softened. Her hands even left her hips, crossing lazily over her chest instead. Draco was momentarily distracted by the v-shape of her t-shirt before shaking his head and refocusing.

"_You got me sick_," he repeated, sniffling. "I would think, Granger, the least you could do is tend to the man you got so severely ill."

She rolled her eyes.

"I _am_ taking care of you, Malfoy!"

He tried to sit up in his bed, reaching for the bottle of water. She watched him struggle for a few seconds before sighing and sitting at the edge of his bed, taking the bottle and tipping it between his feverish lips.

"Godric," she breathed. "Why are men such BABIESwhen they get sick? It's bloody ridiculous."

He pouted. "Not nice, Granger."

"Then, don't be a pussy, Malfoy," she countered.

"A what?" He blinked, unsure if his ringing ears had heard her correctly. "A cat? Is that meant to be derogatory?"

"Fuck," she sighed. "Yes. Yes, it is. But – Never mind – The _point_ is that you should really toughen up about being ill. It's pathetic."

Granger _accio_'d a damp cloth and began wiping at his burning, sweat-soaked forehead and bare chest. Draco, feeling cold – always so, so cold – shivered and reached desperately for another layer to cover himself.

She tucked him back into the several throws and duvets sitting on top of him, then leaned back against his bedframe and brushed away his damp blond strands.

"I'm just saying," she went on. "When _I _was sick with the flu, I bloody went to work. I SUCKED IT UP AND I WENT ON WITH MY LIFE INSTEAD OF," – she paused arching a brow at his childish, snitch-patterned throw he clutched to his cheek, "Whatever this is."

He slipped off to sleep and woke hours later in the dark with a fire burning all over his body. Draco kicked off his blankets and covers and _everything_ to try and get some cool air over his feverish, sweaty body. He huffed and huffed, coughing up unspeakable amounts of phlegm.

"Hey!" Granger shouted, barely managing to right herself as she fell off the bed. "Watch where you're kicking, would you? I can't very well take care of you if I'M INJURED."

Malfoy blinked, staring at the bushy-haired witch coming into view as his eyes adjusted to the dim-lighting.

"Granger," he sputtered, tilting his head as he forced himself into a sitting position. "What the fuck are you doing all curled up at the end of my bed? Bloody weirdo,"

"Bloody wei - " She blinked, her lips twisting into a disapproving line. "I WAS ONLY TRYING TO KEEP A BLOODY EYE ON YOU TO MAKE SURE YOU DON'T CHOKE ON YOUR MUCUS AND _DIE_ IN YOUR SLEEP, MALFOY!"

"But why - "

She shifted to shove him over to one side, then sat beside him and opened a salve. "Because you wouldn't stop bloody swatted me or sneezing in my face and I would very much like to _not_ find out if this illness would rather return to my wonderfully accommodating host of a body."

"I – Oh," he replied dumbly, his head groggy and heavy.

Draco tried to find the will to come up with a valid response to her small rant but found he could not with the weight of his head. His head fell back against the headboard and took a long, laboured breath.

Granger wiped at the sweat over his chest, then dipped two fingers in the salve and began rubbing it carelessly around his torso.

"WHOA," he protested, swatting away her hand.

"MAFOY," she screeched, reaching out to him with her medically coated fingers. "YOU NEED THIS EVERY FOUR HOURS IF YOU PLAN ON CLEARING YOUR LUNGS ANY TIME SOON."

He pouted.

Granger huffed, "You do enjoy breathing, don't you?"

Draco swatted away another advance and choked out, "You're bloody doing it wrong!" between bouts of poorly timed, mucus-filled coughs.

"What?" She snapped, glancing at the instructions written on the container. "No, I'm not." Her eyes narrowed as she read them again. Then twice more. "Malfoy, what are you – Wait – HEY – HOLD STILL FOR FUCK'S SAKE, MALFOY,"

"You have to rub it in clockwise, Granger!" He protested, taking hold of her wrist with what little strength he could muster. Another bout of throaty coughs. "You have to rub it clockwise, and you have to sing the song."

"Sing… the song?" She echoed, blinking profusely. "What song?"

"Here," Draco sighed, "I'll teach you," he said, letting go of her wrist and letting his head fall back against the headboard.

Granger, meanwhile, shifted from her position straddling him to make herself more comfortable. "Go on," she replied tentatively.

"_Brave wizard, fair wizard, which will it be?_" he paused to take a deep, laboured breath. "_Clever wizard, ambitious wizard, the Hat will see,_" then he sighed, his grey gaze falling on the witch above him.

"Got it?" He asked her, arching a silver brow. "Do you think you can," – a paused to cough up half a lung – "handle that simple rhyme?"

"Are you – Are you bloody kidding me? You must be joking," she blinked.

"No," he pouted. "Absolutely not. Sing the song, Granger,"

She scoffed, "Have you always been a spoiled prat? Showered with magic and riddled with privilege?"

"Have you always been an insufferable swot?" He countered.

"You're incorrigible," Granger ruled after a beat of silence.

He glowered, but she took up more salve and began rubbing it into his chest in a clockwise motion with the precision he was used to seeing her display when she was put to a task.

She sighed, catching his expression, and rolled her eyes, taking up the silly rhyme his mother used to sing to him when he got sick (and when his father wasn't around to ridicule them for it).

"Thank you," he choked out, spewing mucus into a handkerchief.

Granger took another tissue from the box beside his bed and dabbed at the sides of his mouth, before tossing it in the bin and adding, "_Kobe!_" under her breath.

Draco chuckled, feeling drowsiness settle in his veins once again, pulling back to sleep.

"One day," he said, muttering the words into the space between them as she curled up against his scorching body. "You are going to have to tell me what that bloody means."

She laughed, stroking his hair away from his eyes, "One day," she promised, falling asleep with him.

* * *

**A/N -** How is it already Day 22!? Dedicated to _chuzziewuzzie _xx


	37. All The Things, Part XXIII

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XXIII**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 23.

* * *

_#23 At every table you save a seat for me_

* * *

Draco apparated with a loud crack.

He was late, and the large distance of grassland he had to stomp through was certainly not helping. By the time he reached the enormous, towering white canopies extended from the teetering bungalow (he refused to refer to it as an actual home, as a matter of principle), he needed to refresh the charms meant to keep his new leather shoes clean and his hair slicked back.

"Oh," a small voice echoed disdainfully as he slipped through the main entrance. "What are you doing here? Get lost, Malfoy?"

He sneered at the young ginger and tucked his hands casually in his trouser pockets, rocking forward to whisper in her freckled ear, "Not in the slightest."

Then, Draco produced a slip of paper – not even pleasantly scripted, not that he expected any less from neither the bride nor the groom's taste – and held it mockingly just out of her reach.

"I was invited, Weaslette," he taunted, finally letting her read the name on the invite and weep. "Now," he said, straightening his tie out of habit and shouldering past her. "I'm late to meet with my wedding date, so if you'll excuse me."

She grimaced but Draco smirked and kept walking.

He felt several sets of eyes follow him as he made his way through the space and suddenly had the strange deja vu of walking through the dark corridors of Hogwarts. Too many Gryffindors were present, and it hardly seemed fair to him, but then again, he was accompanying the best of them all and there was no rumour they could spread that he wouldn't gleam at.

"Draco!" The familiar trill called, waving him over to one of the rows of seats on the groom's side. He shuffled past a few unmemorable faces and noticed that she had saved a seat for him. "There you are," Granger sighed, swiping the small clutch from the chair beside hers and patting it emphatically. "Hurry up, it's about to begin."

"I thought you didn't want to come to this thing," he pointed out, taking the seat and slinging an arm comfortably over her shoulders.

"I didn't," she retorted, shooting him a warning look to lower his voice. "I still don't, but I – Well, I couldn't think of a viable excuse _not_ to come."

"Hm," he grunted. Suppose he couldn't argue with that, though personally if Malfoy had to watch _his _ex get married to a complete airhead and waste of space, then he wouldn't care what people said of his absence. Not attending would be worth any gossip.

Then again, his ex was Satan and not an equal waste of space.

Or a ginger.

Draco shuddered at the thought as he toyed with one of Granger's curls.

The ceremony went on _forever_ and it tore at his will to endure the torture of watching two idiots swear their undying love for one another in horribly unstylish formal wear (he suspected hand-me-downs based on the shoulder pads evident even from the back of the space on _both_ the bride and groom).

As it came time for the actual vows, Draco kept an eye on Granger's face, searching for any sign of discomfort or pain.

"Won-Won," the bride – Lavender, he remembered, snapping his fingers subtly in his lap – began, causing several audience members to cough in order to hide their retches. "You are the _bravest_ man I have ever known and I can't wait to spend every single day, no every single minute and every single hour, of the rest of our lives together. My Googly-Bear," she sniffled. "I love you so much!"

She squealed, bouncing slightly up and down as she finished her speech.

Draco shuddered again, not bothering to hide his grimace.

Granger remained stoic.

Then, the groom went next. "Lav-Lav," he began, causing yet another round of coughs. "You are the best thing that happened to me. Like _ever_. I think you're the only woman that's ever really gotten me – you know really understood me? – and I think you're the only woman I've ever really loved, too. Yeah. Definitely…"

Draco drowned out Weasley's pathetic speech in favour of letting his silvery eyes fall on Granger's face. Her jaw was clenched, but other than that she seemed unbothered by the sentiment – by the implication that _she_ was not a woman worthy of his love.

What a fucking idiot, he thought.

Then again…

What a fucking idiot was _he_?

Draco had known he harboured feelings – he wouldn't dare say the bloody L word yet – for Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, and he hadn't said a single goddamn thing to her about it.

They'd been flatmates for nearly a year now, and they had already renewed their lease for the next year. They'd been sleeping together for six months now, and it had been so _easy_.

Everything with her was easy.

He never had to question if she would be there for him if he needed something because, most likely, she would have already seen that he needed her and would have been prepared to stand beside him the minute he admitted he needed her.

He never had to question if his feelings would waver, because he was _absolutely fucking certain_ that they weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

In fact, even if Draco refused to say that stupid four-letter word right now, he knew that one day he would.

One day, Draco Malfoy, would stand at the end of an aisle (very different from this one because he and his family had _taste_) and he would wait for her, Hermione fucking Granger, to walk down it and meet him at the end.

One day, he would take her hand in his and slip a ring on her dainty, usually chocolate-covered, fingers and promise her forever.

But today…

Today, he would have to begin their forever. For real, this time. No "pussy-ing" out or whatever she said to him the other week.

Draco stood and clapped along with the other guests as the two newlyweds made their way back down the aisle, but all he could think of the entire time was –

What Granger would look like in white (if she dared to abide by bridal norms, which he seriously doubted she would) and –

What she would say during her vows (probably something along the lines of, "I love you, but I still think we're paying too much to heat the flat,") and –

Which hideous pop song she would choose for their first dance together as man and wife (it would almost definitely be _Lover_ by Taylor Swift because she had angry cried at him to leave her alone any time she played it in the flat).

And it _killed _him to imagine her doing any of those with another man.

When the guests began filing out of the ceremony area of the row of canopies and into the reception area, knocking back glass after glass of cheap champagne as they did, Draco caught a hold of Granger's wrist and pulled her back from following the rest of them.

"Malfoy?"

Her brows furrowed questioningly.

"Granger," he began cautiously. Then, realizing he was already off on the wrong foot, began again. "Hermione," Draco said, swallowing a lump in his throat. "We need to talk."

* * *

**A/N - **Ahh we're really getting to the end of this fic now! crazy! This was one of my favorite parts to write and I'm dedicating it to the clever anon who recognized Sick Draco as being inspired by Sick Sheldon xx

_EDIT: I actually adore the song Lover and many of the other things that Draco/Hermione have mocked so please take anything I say with a grain of salt _


	38. All The Things, Part XXIV

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XXIV**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 24.

* * *

_#24 You are insufferably practical_

* * *

"So," Theo drawled, setting down a new bottle of fire whiskey on the table as well as two crystal glasses. "What happened next?"

Draco sighed, running his hand over his face and dragging it down his mouth heavily. He knocked back the first glass quickly, then the second, and another, and another, until he finally felt numb enough to talk about it in detail.

"Well," he slurred, sitting up and loosening his tie. He still had his dress robes on. "Then, I mucked it up. Obviously," he said, gesturing to his current predicament.

"I meant _specifically_, you git," Theo reprimanded, pushing another glass toward Draco. "You knew that too, so there's no need to be obtuse about it."

"Ugh," Draco groaned, slamming his forehead against the hardwood table. "That's something that _she_ would say!"

"Fucking hell," Theo sighed. He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on another and waiting patiently for Draco to go on. Eventually, he did, just as Theo had known he would.

"Right," Draco sighed. "So, I said that we needed to talk - "

"Already a terrible start. Go on,"

"- and it didn't get much better from there. I think she thought I wanted to call off the arrangement. Though, if we're being honest, we BOTH KNOW that the stupid ploy of friends with benefits was never real, or at least, for _me_ it wasn't but – UGH,"

"Go on," Theo encouraged. "You can do it,"

"IT'S JUST SO UNFAIR," Draco wailed, flailing his arms over his head. "She was just so bloody _practical_. She interrupted me to say that it was for the best that we stop. For the fucking best! What absolute _rubbish_! I mean – Can you believe – The _nerve_,"

"Mhm," Theo muttered, cleaning the white crescents of his nails.

"She just totally bulldozed what I was going to say – WHICH WAS _NOT_ THAT WE SHOULD CALL IT OFF – and pointed out how bloody terrible it would be if our friendship were to end or our living situation were to get fucked up if we couldn't _keep ourselves in check_. Like what the fuck?"

"Right, absolutely,"

"AS IF I HAVEN'T BEEN DOING THAT THE ENTIRE BLOODY TIME, RIGHT?"

"Sure, mate," inserted Theo.

"So, she just kept going on and ON about what would happen if we hurt one another or if we dated and broke up and if – I just – She didn't even give me a chance to breathe, much less get a bloody fucking word in!"

"Yes, I know this part, mate. What happened _after_?" He asked, frowning.

Draco gulped down another glass.

"Then – Then, I fucking left. I couldn't stand there and listen to her anymore. Not after – Not after everything I realized I fucking wanted." Draco admitted in a quiet, small voice.

He groaned, and leaned back in his chair, swirling the next glass of spiced liquor between his shaking hands.

"I made a list, you know," he said to Theo, eyes glinted. The other man arched a dark brow, finally intrigued with what Draco was saying. "I made a whole fucking list of reasons why I _hate_ her. I hate her. I do."

"Mhm," Theo nodded. "Sure, you do."

"I do!" Draco protested. "I mean, after she said all of that and I apparated away from that godforsaken wedding, I realized that I was just high on – fuck, I don't know – romantic wedding vibes or some fuckery."

Theo pursed his lips but said nothing.

"ANYWAY," Draco slurred loudly. He pulled a crumpled note from his pocket and flung it at Theo. "I made a list. A list of all the things I hate about Granger."

Draco waited, sipping at the whiskey as Theo glanced over the list. "Twenty-four things? Half of these aren't even _real_, mate. I mean, 'that thing you do with your hips'? That doesn't sound one fucking bit like something you would _hate_ about a woman."

"Shut up," Draco retorted.

He chuckled, tossing the paper back to Draco, who tucked it away once again. "You could have at least rounded up to a sweet twenty-five or something." Theo suggested.

"I'm working on it," Draco grumbled.

"Uh huh," Theo remarked. He stood and stretched his long limbs, then slid a sober-up potion over to Draco and nodded toward the front door. "Well, take this and work on it over in your own flat."

"What?" Draco gasped. "You're going to just kick me to the curb? Just like that? Some kind of mate you are," he bemoaned.

Theo rolled his eyes.

"First of all, Draco, we both know I am _the best_ mate. Secondly, my _fiancée_ will be home any minute and if your sad energy is still here then I don't see her looking to - "

"Alright! Alright!" Draco said, dramatically placing his hands over his ears. "Fuck, I hear you. I'm leaving." He tipped back the vial and winced as the horrible taste of sour cherries coated his tongue. "Ugh," he coughed. "Salazar's balls, that is _terrible_."

"Yeah, well," Theo shrugged. "Oh, and one more thing," he said, pausing at the door with Draco on his heels.

"Thirdly?" Draco questioned, preparing for Theo to slip in a mocking comment or possibly even poorly told dick joke.

"Thirdly," Theo nodded, leaning against the doorframe. "I don't have time to sit here and listen to you go on and on about how much you bloody hate Granger when we both know that you don't. _Also_, you don't have time to sit here and make up a bloody list about it, either. Go over there," Theo said, gesturing to the flat across from his, "and _win_ her, Malfoy, like how you win everything. Lucky bastard."

"I - " At his friend's warning glare, Draco swallowed his intended words and settled for a muttered, "Thanks,"

Draco took a deep breath and flicked his wand, swinging the front door of his flat open and step through the entryway. He blinked when he saw her already standing there, shuffling and wringing her hands together.

Her chestnut curls whipped around when she heard the door close loudly behind him.

He swallowed, clearing his throat.

"Hermione?"

She blinked, then bit her lip.

"Draco," she breathed.

* * *

**A/N - **I _know_ I ended that one in a precarious place and this one hardly scratches the itch _so_, the next (and final!) part of this story will be posted shortly instead of tomorrow. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and Happy other Holidays! This one is for _cherinq_ xx


	39. All The Things, Part XXV

_**All The Things (I Hate About You), Part XXV**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

_Summary: _All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 25.

* * *

_#25 How much I don't hate you. Not even a little bit. Not even at all._

* * *

"Hermione?"

She blinked, then bit her lip.

"Draco," she breathed. "I'm sorry. I – I lied before."

"You," he shifted. "You lied? About what?"

"About us," Granger sighed.

"Go on," Draco nodded, folding his arms over his chest and trying not to openly sound too relieved.

Earlier she had practically bulldozed over him, much like she was doing right now, though before she had appeared calm and collected and delivered her wishes for them to return to a no-sex, strictly platonic relationship. Conversely, now, she was frazzled and out-of-sorts and barely making it through her speech without pacing or subconsciously tugging at her curls and wringing them around her fingers.

"Draco," she said again, taking a deep inhale. "I lied. I lied about us. I don't want to go back to before when we were friends and nothing more. I – I like where we are now and who we've become together. I like myself when I'm with you and _I like being with you_."

She huffed, "I'm not good at this. I was never very good at this. Everyone says I'm so intelligent and clever and the brightest bloody witch of my age but I'm not. I look at you and – and I _want_ to be brave and I want to be bold, but _I bloody can't!_"

Her eyes flickered frantically across his face, "Do you understand what I'm trying to say, Draco?"

She didn't wait for his response, and continued on, pacing the floor in front of him as he moved to sit on one end of the sofa. Evidently this might take a while.

"I just – I look at you and I see it, I didn't at first but now I do. Now, I see it. I see everything I want and everything that makes me happy and – and I don't want to ruin it or let it go and so, I had to – to find some way to protect it and – and I chickened out by not being honest with you and coming up with that fucking ridiculous friends with benefits idea – YOU, you bloody prat, you are everything I need and everything I want and - "

Hermione paused in her pacing, staring down at him with her big, brown eyes.

"You, Draco, are everything that makes me happy and _that terrifies me_. I'm sorry that I messed it all up earlier, it was just, you scared me. I thought, after attending the wedding how idiotic I have been to not be honest with you and then you did the whole We Need to Talk thing and I – I panicked. I couldn't let you see how bloody _mental _you've made me this past year."

He sat patiently, letting her get it all out of her system.

"You've made me _fucking mental_, Draco Malfoy." Hermione snapped, resuming her pacing and tossing her hands in the air. "You snore _so _loudly, you hog the blankets, you always complain that you're cold when the heating is bloody on all the time, you – YOU IRRITATE ME ON SO MANY LEVELS I DON'T EVEN HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO GET INTO ALL OF THEM."

"But you know what, Draco? You know _what_?" She huffed, scoffing.

He arched a silver eyebrow quizzically.

"I DON'T BLOODY CARE," Hermione announced, laughing (to herself most likely which Draco took as a very poor sign for what he thought was her approaching some form of finality or at the very least, normalcy).

"I don't care," she said again, with emphasis, "because I like when you pull me in closer to you even if I'm sweltering under the duvet, and I like when you swing by the office with lunch for me when I've forgotten to pack one, and I like that you always have a bobble on your wrist, and I like that you don't tell me to turn my rubbish pop songs off, and I like that no matter what you never _let_ me win. Even if that means I always have to lose, and do you know want to know why?"

Draco felt a small smile creep across his lips; he'd been careful not to show how much her words meant to him until the opportune moment, lest she throw in the towel early.

"BECAUSE I BLOODY LIKE YOU, THAT'S WHY. Also, because you treat me like an equal and I can't even explain how much that means to me, Draco, but I – I can't – I can't do this anymore unless you feel the same way because I don't think I could ever be just friends with you and nothing more. I don't think that was ever possible, thinking back on it now."

Hermione stood there, curls facing every which way and enormous because of the humidity of the late summer and caught her breath; Draco watched her chest rise and fall for a full minute of silence, and then stood up, towering over her.

"Are you done?" He asked.

"I - "

"You're done," Draco told her, shaking his head. "You really aren't the brightest witch of your age, are you?"

"I – What is that supposed to mean?" She countered, sulking.

Instead of answering her, Draco took her face in his hands and brought her lips up to meet his. He stole her breath and smiled against her lips as they parted readily for him, and he shifted one hand to the small of her back to steady her as her body went partly limp against his.

"You," he murmured against her, "are an absolute idiot, Hermione Granger."

She blinked several times, and he rolled his eyes, leaning back enough to brush away stray curls and give her a judgemental smirk.

"It was never just friends between us," he supplied, "and if you think that I don't feel the same stupid fucking feelings that you feel, then you clearly aren't as clever as you claim to be."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, closed it, then opened it again. "First of all," she began. "_I _never said that I was clever. Other people claimed that. Second of all," she paused, and Draco laughed, which resulted in her swatting his arm and feigning a grimace. "I loathe you."

"No, you don't," he argued.

"No," she lamented, her fingers trailing the sharp line of his jaw. "I don't. In fact," her gaze flickered sheepishly down from his grey eyes to the sliver of his lips. "I think I may very well love you."

"First of all," Draco said, a smug look of victory stretching across his lips as he tightened his grip on her hips. "You know you love me."

"Fine," she retorted. "Fine, then I love you."

He beamed.

"I know,"

She swatted his chest this time, which only made him laugh harder.

"Bloody hell, Granger, I love you too – fuck – there's no need to _assault_ me," he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes, pouting her disapproval at him for a brief second before letting a genuine smile take its place. "Second of all?" She prompted.

Draco leaned in, stealing a quick kiss from her before breaking away to dig through his pockets.

"Second of all," he stated, intertwining their fingers while hastily scribbling something on a piece of paper and sending it through the floo to Theo's flat. "I thought of the twenty-fifth thing."

"Twenty-five things… about what?" She asked, the clockwork behind her chestnut eyes going into overdrive at what he could possibly be talking about.

He shook his head, stealing another kiss, "A story for another time, I think."

"Hm," she grunted, displeased.

"Now," Draco said, smirking and tugging her down the hallway and toward their bedrooms. "I have other ideas of what I would like to do with our time."

_LA FIN_

* * *

**A/N - **This chapter is dedicated to _IndigoRed. _Yes, this #Thing was influenced by the epic classic _Ten Things I Hate About You _which I have never seen unfortunately, but I do hope you liked it nonetheless! Also, there will be a new TAoB update tonight. I can't wait to begin all of my longer fics I have planned now, and they will be coming in the new year. Until then, loves, au revoir xx


	40. The Wimbledon Experiment

_**The Wimbledon Experiment**_

_Rating: _M

_Pairing: _Dramione (Draco x Hermione); background Nottpott (Theo x Harry)

_Summary: _Hermione Granger, new to the professional level of tennis, must prove her worth to the world; however, her archnemesis, Draco Malfoy, isn't about to make her debut year very easy. The tension on the court is palpable, but it is even more intense _off_ the court. Sporty Muggle AU.

**A/N – **Welcome to another niche sport AU! If you haven't already, I highly recommend reading (or _re_reading) _The Malfoy Theory_ (Chapter 13) for which this story preludes.

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 1

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita: **"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to BBC Sports and thank you for tuning into our broadcast of the 2010 Wimbledon Championships, hosted by myself, Rita Skeeter, and my co-host, Gilderoy Lockhart."

**Gilderoy: **"Excellent!"

**Rita: **"Hm, yes… I suppose so. What _is _excellent, ladies and gentlemen, is hosting this beautiful display of athleticism and sportsmanship! For those of you who don't know, or are just tuning in, Wimbledon is the third Grand Slam tennis event of the year. The fourth, and final, Grand Slam tennis event of the year will be the US Open at the end of the summer."

**Gilderoy: **"The more the merrier, I say!"

**Rita: **"Why – yes, Gilderoy – that would be ideal. Unfortunately, this year, our beloved Brits have not been doing _as_ _well_ as they usually do so, more opportunities to crush those American twa – I mean – display our proud British prowess would be phenomenal. Thus, the importance of this competition cannot be understated."

**Gilderoy: **"Understatement isn't even in my _vocabulary_, Rita! Excess or death, I always say!"

**Rita: **"That explains so much."

**Gilderoy: **"What does?"

**Rita: **"Never mind… First day of the competition is now well underway, ladies and gentlemen, and let me tell you – Our athletes look _ravenous_ today! To start the day off we have the Men's Doubles with none other than our favorite English duo."

**Gilderoy: **"Pride and Prejudice!"

**Rita: **"No… Just no. The unstoppable team I am referring to is, of course, Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. They are most definitely a force to be reckon with in this competition. Then again, so is Pansy Parkinson who is stepping out onto the center court to take on Hannah Abbott of Greece in the first Women's Singles match."

**Gilderoy: **"Who?"

**Rita: **"I would explain, but it seems that Parkinson is making quick work of her first match of the competition and sending Abbott chasing the ball all over the court. Well… I have no doubt Parkinson will dominate not only this match, but this whole competition! She certainly has the mindset for it."

**Gilderoy: **"Brain power!"

**Rita: **"Absolutely. Anyway, while Parkinson cleans up her first match, why don't we take a closer look at her Mixed Doubles partner, Draco Malfoy, who is currently warming up with his Men's Doubles partner, Theodore Nott."

* * *

"Who is _that?_"

"Who?" Theo replied without sparing Draco a second glance. He accepted two proffered balls from the ball boy and bounced one repeatedly against the court; he tossed the ball in the air, dropped his shoulder into the perfect serving position, then launched the ball across the court. "Apologies, lads!" Theo called out as the ball collided with one of the opposing team's ankles.

"Watch it, Nott, or you're going to get us disqualified before the match even starts," snapped Draco.

"It was an accident," he supplied with a shrug and a roguish grin. Draco exhaled loudly, reaching into his shorts pocket for a ball, and muttered something unintelligent under his breath. Theo plucked at his racquet strings and added, "Anyway, what were you saying earlier?"

Draco attempted to nod as discreetly as he could to the stands on their left. "The girl in the black jumper with the most atrociously bushy hair," he said, "who is she – is she new?"

Theo's piercing blue gaze lingered in the stands for a breath longer than Draco would have been comfortable with, then fell back down on Draco's waiting expression with a knowing smirk. "She's not new," was all he said. Theo swiped a ball from Draco's shorts rather than wait for a ball boy; when it was obvious that he had no intention of divulging any more information, Draco sighed heavily.

"Well?" He pressed. "Who is she?"

"That," Theo grunted as he hurled another ball toward the opponents rather than the wall (which is where they were _supposed_ to be aiming their practice swings), "is Hermione Granger, American sweetheart as I've heard it,"

"Oh," said Draco, sparing another glimpse toward the stands; the girl, Hermione Granger, was leaning up against the bar in front of her, watching the four men warm up for their opening match with wide, brown eyes.

"You know," continued Theo with a derisive smirk, "she was just this invasive at the Australian and French Opens, too." He waited for Draco's head to snap around before adding, "She won the Mixed Doubles for both, if I recall correctly, though you would know that if your head had been anywhere but between Fleur's thighs the entire time."

"Piss off,"

Theo chuckled under his breath before flashing a particularly taunting grin at him. The match was soon underway, and Draco quickly rerouted his thoughts away from the attentive, bushy-haired girl and on the two men from Sweden who they were currently up against. It was over in the blink of an eye; Theo and Draco were not only the better team, but also the more compatible team.

Then again, they'd been teammates since they could walk and hold a racquet between their chubby, toddler hands.

Draco accepted a damp towel from one of their training aides, following him to physical therapy room. Theo, who had been in front of him, paused beside their exam tables to smirk mercilessly over Draco's shoulder. Draco recognized that look immediately; it meant trouble.

All of the air left his lungs in a single, rushed exhale; for half a beat, he wondered if that particular look was reserved for one bushy-haired tennis goddess coming their way. He stood abruptly and glanced over his shoulder to see an unruly head of hair entering the physical therapy space, but not the one he had been hoping for. Rather, the one he specifically _loathed_.

"Seriously?"

Theo shot him a quick wink over his shoulder before abandoning his post by the exam tables; he strolled over to the rehab treadmills. "Potter," he greeted, flashing a too-innocent smile.

"Nott," the other man growled. He shouldered past Theo's invasive stance and hopped on the only unoccupied treadmill, cranking the speed up to a high-intensity jog. When Potter realized that Theo had made himself comfortable leaning against the machine rather than leave him alone, huffed "What the hell do you want?"

"Nothing," beamed Theo.

Draco watched as Theo pressed his thumb firmly on one of the buttons, and, within seconds, Potter was forced to leap onto the edges of the treadmill rather than succumb to the terrifyingly fast speed Theo set. Theo chuckled, slapped Potter across his arse, then sauntered back over to where Draco sat. Potter's green eyes bore daggers into Theo's back.

"You're still fucking around with him?"

Theo held up a finger, "Correction, Malfoy," he said, "I am still _trying_ to fuck around with him."

"You're incorrigible," replied Draco, catching the physical therapist finally crossing the room to treat them. "The Board won't allow any fraternizing between athletes, Nott, you know that," he muttered, careful not to let anyone else overhear their conversation.

"Fraternizing," repeated Theo with raised brows, "you mean like when a man has his tongue - "

"Alright," cut in Draco, "enough. That was _purely_ physical, and besides, we were careful not to get caught."

"Well, there you have it. I'll make sure to be careful," he shrugged, finally letting the physical therapist work out a knot in his left hamstring. Theo winced, then leaned closer to Draco to add, "We both know the chase is half of the fun. I appreciate the warnings, Draco, but I would respectively like to point out that _you_ are in a far more precarious position with Delacour _and_ Granger."

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 1

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee: **"Welcome back folks to another exciting Grand Slam! Thanks for tuning into NBC for your coverage of the 2010 Wimbledon Championships. I am Lee Jordan, your host, and this is Luna Lovegood, my spirited cohost! We are _very_ excited to be here in London, England, aren't we Luna?"

**Luna: **"Chocolate frog, anyone?"

**Lee: **"That doesn't sound even _remotely_ edible, Luna, but I applaud the enthusiasm! I have to say, folks, 2010 might be the year of the tiger, but it is _also_ the year of the lion! Hermione Granger, lioness and American princess all in one, has taken her international debut year and made it her own. It has truly been a pleasure to watch her dominate the Grand Slams so far, and, I don't know about you, Luna, but _I'm_ excited to see what she accomplishes!"

**Luna: **"The wand chooses the wizard!"

**Lee: **"Oh, sure. If by that you mean that Granger chose well in her partner, Tom Riddle, then I must say I agree with you wholeheartedly!"

**Luna: **"Amortentia!"

**Lee: **"I have no idea what that means, but it sounds nice! Now, speaking of the dynamic duo, Granger and Riddle, let's take a look at the latter of the two warming up for his first match. Riddle, for those of you who don't know, primarily was a Men's Singles athlete before his coach discovered Granger and granted us the pleasure of an exceptional Mixed Doubles team."

**Luna: **"She has _got_ to sort out her priorities!"

**Lee: **"I don't know about that, Luna. Riddle might be more commonly known as the Dark Lord in the world of tennis, but he _is_ an esteemed athlete. You can tell, simply from his aggressive approach on the court, that he means business!"

**Luna: **"And is entirely _too_ fond of _Avada_,"

**Lee: **"Is that what you call his killer forehand? Not that his backhand is necessarily a weak side for him – OH, THERE HE GOES – Incredible shot, and just as we were talking about it! How about that for coincidence, Luna?"

**Luna: **"He's a skilled legilimens!"

**Lee: **"Not sure that's the right word for it, but nevertheless, Riddle is remarkable. I, for one, ladies and gentlemen, am thrilled to see Riddle and Granger in the next coming days as the Mixed Doubles begins. For now, though, why don't we take a look at our newest American Men's Singles athlete, young Harry Potter?"

**Luna: **"Fortuna major!"

* * *

Hermione watched as many matches in every tournament as she could, especially if her competitors were involved; that is, if they didn't interfere with her strict practice regimen. Hermione took her sport very seriously, which is why she spent hours perfecting her stances, eating a well-balanced diet, and pushing her body as far as it could go without breaking. At the moment, she was currently sitting in on a match containing one of her future competitors. Her gaze flickered from one side of the busy court to the other as the top English Men's team swiftly put the opposing Swedish team in their place.

The smug blond caught her eye.

More accurately, the smug blond caught her eye _again_ (Hermione had casually been keeping tabs on him since she first watched him play at the Australian Open some months ago). What was interesting, though, was that, this time, the smug blond returned her gaze. At the end of the match, as he ducked under the stands to head towards the physical therapy space, his stormy grey eyes bore into her shamelessly.

Hermione turned briskly away, hoping he wouldn't catch the heat rising to her cheeks, and steered herself in the complete opposite direction. Tom was over on the fourth court, she knew, and decided to pay him a visit; he took much too much delight in seeing her in the stands during his matches, but Hermione supposed a minor inflate to his already enormous ego was worth avoiding the obvious _sex eyes_ from the smug blond.

"What the - "

Hermione stopped short and retracted her steps at the violent grunts coming from the third court. She stepped cautiously into the stands and was taken aback by the sheer volume of people in attendance; with a quick glance over the stands for a spare seat, Hermione let out a sigh of relief when she saw a familiar face in the crowd.

"Hey," She said, sidling up next to a woman who she'd made friends with back at the Australian Open a few months ago, "What's going on here?"

"Oh, hey," greeted Angelina with a quick smile. "I'm glad you're here. I would have thought you would have been off running on one of England's many rolling green hills or otherwise counting macro's and berating the kitchen staff," she mocked.

Hermione shot her an impatient look and sighed, deflating at the warmth radiating from Angelina. "I ran this morning," she mumbled, ignoring the wiggling of the other woman's brows. "_Anyway_," Hermione went on, pointedly gesturing to the court below them, "What is this? Why is everyone and their mother here?"

"Oh, right," replied Angelina in her thick Australian accent, "My comrade is getting his arse handed to him," she chuckled, "I can't say he deserves it because Bill is a good guy, but Men's Singles really isn't his strong suit."

The two women surveyed the match before them, and Hermione couldn't help but agree after a few moments of observation; Bill Weasley was a brilliant tennis player when on a team with Angelina, but he was definitely struggling on his own.

"Why doesn't he stick to Doubles?" Pressed Hermione, digging out a water flask from her gym bag and taking a languid sip. "Is that – _Potter's_ the one making Bill run around the court all crazy like that? Holy shit,"

"Yeah," scoffed Angelina. "He's one of yours, isn't he?"

Hermione pursed her lips, "He's American, sure, but he's not one of _mine_, Ang,"

"Potato, potato," she shrugged in response. "Either way, he's not doing too bad for a kid."

"Hey," Hermione snapped instinctively, "_I'm_ only a few months older than him." Angelina, who was a few years older and had quickly taken Hermione under her wing, laughed and elbowed her playfully, but Hermione only rolled her eyes.

Hermione, a few months shy of nineteen, was by far one of the youngest tennis players in the Grand Slam tournaments. Harry Potter, evidently, was _the _youngest. Both of them had similar backgrounds, she knew, with their lack of formal tennis practice; until just a couple of years ago, neither of them had so much as picked up a racquet. It beguiled most of the tennis community and immediately dubbed them as underdogs. Hermione didn't mind that, because it meant she would likely be underestimated by her competition; a mistake.

"Well," she finally said, rising to her feet and slinging her gym bag over her shoulder, "I'm going to try and catch the end of Tom's match." Angelina nodded wordlessly; her dark eyes trained on the two men sprinting around the court. "For what it's worth," Hermione added offhandedly, and to no one in particular, "Potter may be distressingly erratic with his movements, but he's got natural talent."

Hermione strode into the fourth court with just enough time to catch Tom punching a fist into the air and screaming bloody murder; he must have won, she mused internally.

"I don't know what you're so ecstatic about," she drawled, leaning up against the locker room door and blocking his entrance. "That should have been an easy win for you."

"It _was_ a win, Hermione," he scoffed.

"No," she corrected, "I saw the final score. You barely had him, and Rookwood should have been much easier for you to beat."

"You know," murmured Tom as he shifted to stand closer to her, "If I didn't know any better, Hermione, I would say you sound _concerned_ about me." He stepped closer again; their chests were one breath away from one another, and Hermione had to fight not to look away from his piercing blue eyes.

"Hardly,"

"Hm," he grunted. A small, taunting smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, then he pushed through the locker room door, leaving Hermione outside. Except, Hermione wasn't afraid of barging into the men's locker room so, she followed without a moment of hesitation. Tom peeled his sweat-slicked shirt over his head, tussling his black curls, and caught Hermione's eye as she took a seat on the bench. "Miss me?"

"No."

Tom's cocky smirk only deepened; Hermione bristled.

"Just because we're teammates now doesn't mean we can't still - "

"Yes," she cut in, rising to her feet. "Yes, it does. I have strict rules, Tom. I told you that before we – Never mind – That is never happening again."

"Never say never, Hermione," he taunted.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, gave him one last glare, then turned swiftly around the corner and smacked rather hard into something… or more accurately, _someone_.

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 4

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita: **"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen! I must say, so far the tournament has been a whirlwind of excitement, and there is still so much more to come!"

**Gilderoy: **"Marvelous!"

**Rita: **"Right you are, Gilderoy. The past few days we have had the pleasure of watching Parkinson run the Women's Singles just as we knew she would. She only has a few more matches left before she moves in to take the gold – because, honestly, who else is going to dethrone her? – and then she'll be starting the Mixed Doubles with her longtime friend and partner, Draco Malfoy."

**Gilderoy: **"They should date!"

**Rita: **"No, no. They can't do that, or they would be disqualified."

**Gilderoy: **"Boooo!"

**Rita: **"In other news… Malfoy, like Parkinson, also competes in more than one category. He and his Men's Doubles partner, Theodore Nott, have been doing exceedingly well so far. Only the Bulgarian team, Karkaroff and Dolohov, have given them a run for their money. Let's keep our fingers crossed, ladies and gentlemen, that our beloved British boys manage to secure the win in the next coming days."

**Gilderoy: **"Go! Fight! Win!"

**Rita: **"Is that – Are you _cheering?_ What was that hand movement you just did?"

**Gilderoy: **"What movement? I didn't do anything… Have you always worn glasses?"

**Rita: **"Yes – I – Anyway, as I was saying – Oh, my! Is that the _Queen?_ Yes – Yes, it is. Ladies and gentlemen, this is very exciting, it appears as though _the Queen of England_ has decided to sit in on one of today's matches! I wonder who it will – OH, AND IT'S PARKINSON – Truly splendid choice – Well, hopefully our Parkinson doesn't fold under the pressure."

**Gilderoy: **"Under pressure!"

**Rita: **"What?"

**Gilderoy: **"Another one bites the dust!"

**Rita: **"Don't _say_ that, Gilderoy. You absolute baboon – LADIES AND GENTLEMEN THE QUEEN WAVED TO PARKINSON – OH GOODNESS, SHE WAVED BACK – OH, AND NOW THEY'RE SMILING. MY WORD THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I HAVE _EVER_ WITNESSED."

* * *

"Hey," Theo said, "Pansy's looking for you. Something about how we've all been neglecting to bow down to her – or was it about a practice match she wanted to do Sunday? I can't remember, exactly, but either way, she's looking for you."

"Which is precisely why I'm getting the bloody hell out of here," Draco quipped.

"Probably a good call," nodded Theo in response. "She's been positively unbearable since that whole thing with Elizabeth."

"Did you just… Did you just refer to _the Queen_ by her first name?" Draco blinked, startled. Theo only shrugged, waving off the accusation as if it was week-old lint on his shoulder. Draco shook his head, then bent to double knot his trainers. "If you see Pans just pretend like you didn't see me, ok?"

"Easy enough. You're quite forgettable," he turned on his heel – most likely to go search for Potter to torment since they had a free afternoon – and, as soon as he turned the corner, shouted, "PAAAAAANSSYYYYYYY. HE'S OVER HEEEEEEERE."

"Bloody hell, Theo," cursed Draco under his breath.

It was the first day of the competition that Draco had a vacant schedule and he had no plans of sacrificing it for whatever Pansy wanted them to do to prepare for their upcoming matches. Instead, Draco planned to take advantage of the surprisingly beautiful London day and ditch the arena for a nice outdoor run.

Except, someone else had evidently had the same idea.

And of all the bloody running paths in the Wimbledon Commons, she just had to pick this one at this time.

"Hey, Granger," he huffed as he caught up to her on the wooded path.

"Holy shit!" She nearly lost her footing – which was disconcertingly adorable – and shot him a harsh glare. "What the hell are you doing?" She didn't wait for his response before going on. "Wait – Are you stalking me?"

"Stalking you?" Draco repeated with a scoff. "If anything, Granger, _you _are the one stalking _me,_"

"Says the one who snuck up on me in the middle of my run, in a massive park, and no where _near_ the arena," she retorted between gasping breaths as the trail suddenly inclined.

Draco chuckled under his breath, reveling in the lactic acid burn in his calves. "Says the one who, quite literally, _ran _into me in the men's locker room _and_ watched all three matches I've had so far – don't bother trying to deny it. I know you know I've seen you in the stands."

"I won't deny it," she replied with a haughty grin. "But don't flatter yourself. I watch most of the matches. In fact – hold on – which privileged English aristocrat are you again? What's your name?"

Draco halted.

She stopped soon after, glancing back with an amused smirk spreading across her flushed expression.

"You know my name," he said. Draco crossed the short space between them in seconds; when Granger backed up, creating more distance, he stepped forward again. "You know my name," he repeated, smirking down at her chest rising and falling heavily. From the intensive cardio, or from his proximity to her, it was difficult to tell. Draco, feeling especially optimistic, decided to believe Granger's labored breathing was because of the latter. "You know it, and you're going to say it."

Her expression immediately soured.

"What are you going to do - _make_ me say it?"

"No," Draco drawled, letting his gaze purposefully drop to her lips, then her neck, before meeting her big brown eyes again. "You'll say it on your own accord." Draco backed up, pausing to whisper in her ear, "Beg with it, if we're being honest," then he jogged further down the path, back towards the arena for a long, cold shower.

Draco should have known something was off when he went to open the door to his and Theo's hotel suite and the door was locked; it was never locked. Miraculously, though, Draco happened to be wearing the same quarter-zip he wore when he checked into the hotel, which meant that – against all odds – the hotel key card was in one of its inner pockets.

"Fucking hell," he gaped, immediately turning to face the wall rather than glimpse again at the sight he walked in on. "NOTT," he bellowed, "Are you kidding me? On the dining table? We _eat _there!"

Some shuffling and then, "Relax, Draco. Potter was just about to leave," he paused, and Draco could practically hear the mischievous grin spreading across his face, "Well, _technically_, Potter was just about to come, but -"

"Nope," he sighed, opening the hotel door and storming out, "Nope, no. Not doing this – Not getting involved – I'll just – Shower in the arena locker rooms," he muttered to himself, willing the images to please, for the love of all things good, not burn in the back of his mind.

As it turns out, he wasn't going to have much more luck at the arena.

"Malfoy," trilled an angelic voice with a heavy French accent, "Long time no see, _oui_?"

He sighed. Draco turned to see the tall and slender blonde woman he'd spent the better part of the year fucking. Ordinarily, he would get a semi just from the sight of her striding up to him – the irresistible sway of her hips – but not this time. In fact, he was quite sure that particular habit was done for; much like their completely physical relationship.

"Delacour," he greeted amicably.

"You are going to _la douche_, _oui?_" Her blue eyes flitted expectantly over his shoulder, then down his torso. "I can help," she murmured, batting her eyes coquettishly.

Draco thought about it for a millisecond.

On the one hand, he could very much use a release for all of the tension building in his muscles from the strange afternoon. Plus, he hadn't had sex in a month or so and his imagination wasn't entirely as satisfying as he wished it was. Then again, whenever he closed his eyes lately, all he saw were big brown eyes and a bushy head of curls; not the sleek blonde ponytail and pleading blue eyes stood before him.

"No," he finally said, putting more distance between himself and Fleur. "I can't," he told her firmly, "we can't do that anymore. It's – Err – I mean – It's not - "

"It's not you, it's me? _Sérieusement?_"

Draco fumbled, but Fleur brushed off his paled expression with a quick flick of her wrist. "It's is nothing, Malfoy," she assured him with a gentle shrug of her shoulders, "_c'est la vie, oui?_ I will find someone else here to be my… friend," she smirked. Draco blinked. Fleur placed a kiss to either side of his cheek before leaving him to mutter incoherently under his breath.

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 4

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee: **"Welcome back, folks! It's another beautiful day here in Wimbledon, and we have very exciting news for you, don't we, Luna?"

**Luna: **"_Petrificus Totalus!_"

**Lee: **"Perfect! Totally! That's exactly right! The first week of the tournament is almost over, which means the Men's Singles is coming to an end, and – my _goodness_ – what a thrilling journey it has been so far. Our two Americans, Riddle and Potter, have been sweeping the competition cleanly, and today they will be facing on one another in the _final_."

**Luna: **"May 2, 1998!"

**Lee: **"What? Actually, never mind. So, ladies and gentlemen, here we go! The match has just begun. Wow, already a pretty shocking start – You can just _see_ the difference in these two athletes. Riddle, known for his prowess and deadly swings, is commanding the court. Meanwhile, Potter, who has unforeseen natural talent, is wildly sprinting back and forth chasing the ball."

**Luna: **"He should be chasing _the snitch_,"

**Lee: **"Sure, sure, Luna. Oh – This is interesting – It looks as though Potter's erratic, and completely unorthodox, methods are beginning to pay off! Riddle is starting to really work up a sweat, folks – He doesn't look pleased at _all_ – OH MY GOD, POTTER SAVED HIMSELF WITH THAT DROP SHOT – That came out of _nowhere_, and now he's won the second set, leaving Riddle without a score to his name."

**Luna: **"The prophecy unfolds!"

**Lee: **"That would certainly explain this shocking turn of events! Riddle is one of the most revered players, and, while Potter is tremendously talented, he is also new to the sport. In the past two Grand Slams, Riddle placed – of course – in first, with Potter somewhere below the podium. However, it doesn't seem like that will be the case today, folks!"

**Luna: **"Enemies of the heir beware!"

**Lee: **"That seems a bit extreme – HE'S DONE IT AGAIN – I repeat, Potter has done it again! This is – I have no words – Harry Potter has just _won_. In a _love game_ against previous champion _Tom Riddle_ no less! This is unprecedented!"

* * *

"You played well out there, especially considering you have two left feet," taunted Hermione.

Harry jumped about ten feet in the air, abruptly slammed his locker shut, and lifted a hand to his dramatically rising chest. "What the hell?" He blinked, surveying the room. "What are you _doing _in here?" He demanded, though he looked less threatening and more timid than anything else. "Wait – Did you just say I have _two_ left feet?"

Hermione smirked, "I did." She paused, tilting her head and letting her gaze sweep across his frazzled state. "You do." She quickly waved her hand before he could utter another idiotic question and got down to business. "Listen, you may have won today's match – again, impressive – but you won't be able to do it again. Not with that footing, and certainly not with those erratic twitches you call swings," she chided.

He scowled.

"Who are you again?" Harry snapped.

Hermione dimpled, offering him her hand, "Hermione Granger, I'm - "

"Riddle's partner," he scoffed. "Of course. Did you really think coming in here and telling me I'm trash is really going to intimidate me? You're wrong," said Harry; his black eyebrows furrowed, and his lips contorted in obvious displeasure.

"Huh," murmured Hermione to herself, "Brave, too. I like it. Stupid," she added under her breath, letting her brown eyes scrutinize Harry's muscles, "but brave." Then, she cleared her throat and spoke up, drawing Harry's attention away from his post-match routine and back to the woman who had barged in on it. "Here's what we're going to do. _You_ are going to work on that backhand of yours, as well as your footing. Seriously, you're going to snap an Achilles the way you're going. _I _am going to help you, naturally, and look into the Grand Slam guidelines for a loophole. _Then _\- "

"Whoa, whoa," Harry interrupted, cutting off her ranting. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Hermione sighed.

"I'm offering you a spot on my team – to replace Riddle."

He gaped. Hermione waited for him to regain the ability to form a cohesive thought. "We – I – You – What? _Why?_" At the formation of a relative question – _finally _– she grinned mischievously and took a seat on the bench, patting the space beside her. Harry sat, somewhat reluctantly, but Hermione imagined his curiosity was driving his compliance.

"Because," she replied. "You're good, and I like to win."

"And you think you can win with… me?"

Without missing a beat, Hermione said, "Yes."

"Didn't you _just _say - "

"Yes, yes," she cut in, waving off his confusion. Predictable. "I meant what I said. You're good, but you're still flawed. They aren't terrible flaws, though, and are ones that can definitely be improved upon. Your swing, for example? All you need to do is learn how to be more in control. It requires discipline." She shrugged.

Harry, still on edge, pressed his lips into a thin line. "And my footing?" He challenged.

Hermione beamed. "That," she told him, "has a much easier fix. You need to share the court. You need someone else on your side that can help you, work _with_ you, and step in when something is out of your range." She smirked at him, sensing that he was catching onto what she was proposing. "You need _me_."

Harry blinked.

Hermione stood, patted down her pleated skirt and headed toward the door. "Meet me tomorrow night. Second court." She paused, then added, "If we're lucky, I'll be able to find a loophole before then, and _then_ we'll have a few days _at most_ \- "

"Wait," cut in Harry, "What about Riddle?"

"Fuck him," she tossed over her shoulder.

"What – just like that?" He pressed.

Hermione sighed. Tom was a superb athlete, and given her early defense of him to Harry, she could see the hesitation in his eyes to trust her. But she also knew anything she said right now wouldn't earn his trust; that would require much more effort. Effort she planned on putting in over the next few days. Besides, Tom may be an exceptional athlete, but he was terrible on a team and not all of his flaws could be fixed.

"Yeah," she finally said, "just like that."

The adrenaline coursed through her veins. Hermione could taste the victory on the tip of her tongue. She hadn't been this excited for a match since her first breakout match as an international competitor. Now, all she had to do was get rid of Tom; she was sure there was something in the guidelines that would allow her to replace him, and she just needed to find it.

Though, Hermione thought, pausing mid-step, that would have to wait.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of silver. The past few hours that particular smug blond left her with an _itch_ she couldn't scratch; Hermione had a healthy relationship with masturbation, but with him within arm's reach, why should she have to resort to such a means to an end? Besides, it had been a long time since she'd had sex – _too _long.

Hermione, emboldened by her new scheme, followed Malfoy (oh, yes – she definitely knew his name; not that she would ever tell him that). He ducked around a couple of corners in the back alleys of the arena. Hermione wasn't exactly sure where he was going until he turned sharply into the physical therapy room.

Except, when Hermione stepped into the dark room, it was empty.

"Looking for me?"

She spun on her heel and barely repressed a gasp. "You have _got_ to stop sneaking up on me like that," she reprimanded. He, however, looked _more_ smug – if that was even possible – at her response.

"I keep telling you, Granger," he tutted. "It's you who is stalking me."

This time, that was true. But Hermione would be damned if she ever let him know that so, she quickly averted her gaze and walked further into the room. "How do you know I didn't come in here to massage a sore muscle of mine?"

He stepped closer to her; close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.

"Did you?"

Hermione purposely let her eyes drop to the pink of his lips, then back up to the stormy grey of his eyes. "No," she murmured in confession. Hermione inhaled sharply and willed herself – for once in her life – not to _think_. She stretched up on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips firmly to his.

They were warm and inviting; he tasted like salt and bad decisions and she _loved_ it.

"Granger - "

"Shut up," she whispered against his lips, "just shut up and kiss me."

"Oh, don't worry," he murmured back, tightening his grip on her hips, "I'll do more than just kiss you."

And much to Hermione's utter dismay, she was wholly incapable of repressing a soft whimper at the unspoken promise as his tongue slid along hers, deepening the kiss.

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Middle Sunday (Rest Day)

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita: **"It is officially the middle Sunday of Wimbledon, ladies and gentlemen, and you know what that means."

**Gilderoy: **"Signing copies of my autobiography?"

**Rita: **"No, Gilderoy. It _means_ that there will be no matches today, in any category. Today is a complete rest day for everyone! And while it means there will be no new matches to cover, there are plenty of ones from earlier this week that deserve additional highlights, don't you think?"

**Gilderoy: **"Well, _I _think it's - "

**Rita: **"Wonderful. Let's start by covering our beloved Pansy Parkinson, shall we? The winner of the Women's Singles and favorite of the Queen…"

* * *

Draco squinted at the bright light streaming into his room. His head ached; it was too early for him to be awake after the night he had. Speaking of…

"What the hell are you doing, Granger?" He asked a tinge unkindly. She was sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room and – unlike him – looked overly prepared for the day; her bushy curls were pulled tightly into a high ponytail, which bobbed in front of her face as she bent over to tie her trainers.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm going for a run," she snapped back impatiently.

He arched a brow at her expectantly. "Fine," he huffed, throwing the sheets to the side. "I'll join you."

"No," she replied instantly.

"Why not?"

"Because," she sighed. "We're not friends. We're just – that was the last time - "

"You say that every time," he reminded her primly. "Besides, Granger, I'm not trying to be your friend." She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. Draco groaned inwardly. He reached for his training trousers and pulled them on, shooting her an equally exasperated look. "Listen," he said, picking out a dry-fit shirt, "I really could use a run. Not to mention, Pans will probably be busting down my door any minute with the pretense of wanting to condition for our matches this week. I don't want anything to do with that,"

At that, a hint of a smirk pulled at her lips.

"Why?" She asked too-innocently; taunting him. "You should probably join her, you know. Not me. God knows you could use the extra practice,"

"Are you seriously trying to imply that you and Riddle are going to beat us this time? Because _that's _definitely not happening," Draco quipped, adding, "not again," under his breath when he opened the door and checked to make sure the coast was clear before ushering her behind him.

"No," she drawled in a strangely girlish tone. It struck Draco as immensely odd, but he cleared the behavior from his head the minute they stepped out onto the street.

The run was enjoyable; Granger was able to keep a fairly advanced pace given her short stride in comparison to his. There was a reason she was such an incredible athlete, he mused. When they both slowed at the end of the fifth mile, she turned to him with a furrowed brow.

"What are you going to do now," she asked, "to avoid Parkinson?"

"I'm sure I'll come up with something," he shrugged, shooting her a flirtatious smirk.

"Really?" She exclaimed, glancing around the wooded path. "Here?" He shrugged again. She scoffed, shaking her head and barely hiding the smile that broke out across her face from him. "You're incorrigible," she added.

Draco caught her next breath in his.

His thumb drew across the line of her jaw, then he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her chin up. His lips slid down the fragile skin of her neck, feeling her steady pulse under his touch and reveling in the increased rhythm when he nipped at her throat.

"You don't seem too opposed to the idea," he murmured against her collarbone.

"No," she exhaled heavily, "I suppose I'm not."

Draco took the green light and lifted her, cupping her bum firmly between his palms. She let out a soft, feminine gasp and it drove him mad with want. He carried her off the path, deeper into the woods, then pressed her up against a sturdy tree, careful not to be too rough with the maneuver. Her legs wrapped around his hips; her heels dug into his spine, and her hands fumbled with the drawstring of his trousers.

"I thought you said last night was _the last time_, Granger," he teased, pulling at her bottom lip with his teeth.

"This," she panted, taking his length in her hand – it was throbbing; he stifled a groan, burying it in her damp curls – "is the last time,"

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Middle Sunday (Rest Day)

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee: **"Rest day! Rest day! Rest day! Today's the day, folks! No competitions, today! Which means that today's broadcast will be filled with tons of fun coverage of our Golden Trio – Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Tom Riddle."

**Luna: **"No, no. It's supposed to be _Weasley_ not Riddle."

**Lee: **"Bill Weasley? But he's not even – He's _Australian_, Luna – He can't be - "

**Luna: **"Not him - "

**Lee: **"Well, I was going to say - "

**Luna: **"_Ronald _Weasley. Though, I can see how you can be confused, with his middle name being Bilius. Not to mention, they _are_ brothers and - "

**Lee: **"Wait – _Who?_ – Never mind. Why don't we begin by going over highlights of our Golden Girl in anticipation for her first match of Wimbledon coming up?"

* * *

"Remind me," she said, stepping into the dimly lit room, "Why are we here again?" _Here_, being one of the private wellness rooms in the arena.

"Because," Malfoy replied gruffly, flicking on the yellowed lights, "I'm avoiding Pansy and you're avoiding Riddle – for reasons you won't tell me," he paused to glance back at her, but Hermione simply shrugged.

"He's an asshole," she wasn't planning on elaborating; he would find out soon enough, anyway.

"Right," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "So, it has nothing to do with the fact that he's been pining over you the whole competition?" At Hermione's sharp glare, he bore a smug expression. "Anyway," he went on in a lighter tone, "My hotel room is off-limits, as is yours."

"Still," she pressed, skeptically surveying the room. "Why _here_?"

He shrugged.

"No one will come looking for us here. Everyone else is taking their rest day very seriously," his grey eyes landed on hers with a knowing smirk, "unlike _some_ people."

"You didn't _have_ to join me this morning," she reminded him. "Besides," she teased, switching her tone to one a bit more flirtatious, "I thought you enjoyed the workout. You seemed plenty _satisfied _to me."

Malfoy's lips twitched at the corners, and his gaze darkened.

"Speaking of satisfaction," he drawled, pulling her closer to him.

At this point, Hermione didn't bother fighting the sexual chemistry. Wimbledon would come and go, and Draco Malfoy would be no more than a notch on her bed post and a competitor left in the dust; she would still win. His dexterity would not derail her victory – or rather, it would not derail her _tennis_ victory; it would, however, guarantee a different type of victory altogether.

His fingers slid aside her panties, and she shivered as his expert touch brought her to the edge in minutes, then sent her careening over it.

"Holy _fuck_," she breathed in his ear, tilting her chin back to expose her neck to his lips. "Yes – there – yes_yes_yes – oh_fuckyes_ – I – _Oh_,"

Hermione came with his name on the tip of her tongue but was swift enough to swallow it rather than say it aloud. It seemed, however, that Malfoy picked up on this particular fact. Something dangerous – and hot, so hot – flashed behind his grey eyes.

"Stubborn, aren't you, Granger?" He chuckled. His hand slid out from the slickness of her panties, then brushed against her inner thigh briefly, causing goosebumps to rise, then peeled the soaked cotton from her legs. He flipped her over, pressing her chest against the cool fabric of the examination table; Malfoy's timber voice echoed in her ears as he thrust himself slowly into her. "Don't worry. I still stand by what I said before. You know my name, and you're going to be begging for me with it soon enough. _That_, I promise you."

"How are you so sure that that is going to happen?" She replied, bucking her hips in beat with his and creating a sensational friction; the heat between her legs began building again. "If your tactics haven't worked thus far," she panted.

"Tactics," he laughed; his chest vibrating against her spine. "It's cute that you think this is me _trying_, Granger,"

Hermione bit down on her lip hard.

"Well, if you had any real desire to achieve your goal, then shouldn't you be _trying_?"

He abruptly pulled out of her; she felt his absence like a slap to the face and wondered if perhaps she had taken their banter too far. Before she could form a cohesive thought, though, he had already returned his searing touch to her skin. He pulled her back to him, swiveled her hips and pressed her back against the soft fabric. He angled his body so that her dramatically rising and falling breasts met his sweat-slicked chest with every ragged breath.

"Is that what you want?" Malfoy murmured, teasing her by adjusting the tip of his cock to sit _just_ on the sensitive lips of her cunt. "You want me to try, do you? You want me to make you scream my name? Well," he said, brushing his lips against hers, "be careful what you wish for, Granger."

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 9

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita: **"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen! As ever, it is a pleasure to be here at Wimbledon."

**Gilderoy: **"Remarkable!"

**Rita: **"Yes, yes. Quite. I'm thrilled to announce that Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson have just won their second match of the week! The pair must both be reeling from their recent victories in other categories because their attitude on the court has been phenomenal. Parkinson, who took gold in the Women's Singles, sent the Italians yesterday running for the hills with every serve."

**Gilderoy: **"I would never run, because I'm not a _coward_."

**Rita: **"Sure, Gilderoy. Then, today against the Canadian team, Malfoy perfectly executed not one, but _two_ drop shots. I believe the Canadians actually let a frown form on their predominantly cheery expressions after that match."

**Gilderoy: **"Sensational!"

**Rita: **"Hmm. Well, it _was_ an exciting match. With only a few days left of Wimbledon, and only _one_ more match before the finals, our Brits have a pretty clear path to victory ahead of them the way they're playing. That is – assuming the American team doesn't swoop in to take the gold. _Again_."

**Gilderoy: **"They might!"

**Rita: **"Hush, Gilderoy."

* * *

Draco took the proffered towel from the training aide and wiped at the sweat trickling down his face. At the sharp elbow to his ribs, Draco nearly coughed up a lung. "Ouch," he seethed under his breath, aware that as the winners of the match they were being watched excruciatingly closely. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"_Smile_," instructed Pansy between gritted teeth. Her pearly whites flashed brilliantly before the cheering crowd. She looped her arm in his and steered them toward the crestfallen Canadians. "Good match," she dimpled. "Very well done."

They mumbled their congratulations and swiftly exited the court.

Draco saw Pansy's elbow coming that time and narrowly avoided it by spinning out of her grasp to blow dramatic kisses as the crowd. Step by step, they made their way to the tunnel that ran under the stands; in the cool shade, both of them dropped their jaunty facades.

"Well," huffed Pansy. "That could have been smoother."

"Smoother?" Echoed Draco, aghast. "Where? Our moves were perfectly in sync, and our countermoves were far superior to theirs. They stood no chance, despite the close call in the second set, and you know it."

"I'm just saying," sniped Pansy, accepting a water bottle and amino-acid drink from their assistant coach wordlessly. "It could have been better. There's always room for improvement,"

"Which you keep reminding me," he muttered, stretching his forearm across his chest. She shot him a side glare, pressing her lips into a thin line. Draco sighed. "Fine, fine. We can train tomorrow before our next match. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Pansy remarked drily. "Why not tonight? Unless, that is, you have plans I don't know about?"

"Perhaps, I do," Draco replied evasively. He was careful to maintain eye contact with her, knowing that if he were to break it, she would surely take that poorly. He didn't want her getting any ideas about what he was _actually_ planning on doing that night.

"You know what?" She remarked, holding her hands up in apparent defeat. "I don't care. Just don't hurt yourself and don't be late tomorrow. So long as whatever you're up doesn't interfere with our chances at gold, then I don't care." Pansy strode away, leaning into one their aides and arranging for a hot-cupping session, no doubt.

Draco, meanwhile, nodded to the other aide who lingered behind to tend to his physical needs; hot-cupping was not necessarily his thing, but a full-body massage, however, he could use. His triceps and calves were both sore; though, to be fair to tennis, it wasn't entirely the sports fault.

Hermione Granger had exceedingly high endurance levels that Draco was constantly working to match – or better.

That night, he snuck out to her room. There were the usual rules to their _purely physical_ non-relationship that Draco had come to expect; not being seen with each other in public, no getting attached, and no sentimental gestures. For some bizarre reason, they also agreed not to exchange numbers. So, when Draco arrived at her hotel room, he had to use their signature knock to let her know he was outside.

Except, just as he raised his fist to the door, he caught Granger's voice on the other end, along with one his didn't recognize; a male voice, deep and demanding.

Sensing trouble, Draco quickly backed away and ducked behind a corridor, peering around to see the door fly open and two figures storm into the hallway.

"I told you, Tom, we're done." Granger snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Hermione," scoffed the other man – evidently, Tom – "We both know the real reason why you did that." His tall, overbearing frame leered over her smaller one, and a mischievous glint flashed behind his eyes. Draco didn't like the way he looked at her, and he _definitely _didn't like the way he leaned forward to touch her. "I'm not even mad about it. I know you only did that because you miss having me in your bed," Tom taunted.

Granger, much to his utter relief, yanked her hand away from him.

"We're _done_. What part of that don't you understand? I don't want you beside me on the court, and I don't want you _in my bed_. For fuck's sake, Tom," she hissed. "Leave."

"You don't really want me to go, Hermione," he murmured.

"_Yes_, I do. Leave me the _fuck_ alone, Tom."

"Hermione - "

"Hey," Draco snapped, before he even realized what he'd done. Both of their heads swiveled to face him as he stepped into the hallway. "She said leave." He growled in a low, warning tone. "If I were you," he went on, striding up to Tom and sizing the other man up and down pointedly. "I would get the hell out of here. Don't want to cause a scene, do you?"

Draco wasn't nearly his size; at a quick glance, the obvious choice in a fight would be Tom, but Draco was exceptionally skilled at hand-to-hand combat. It was something he'd been forced to learn since he was a child, because, apparently, if his mother could start Draco on a tennis career, then his father could teach him how to fight like a man (_his_ wording).

"Hm," grunted Tom, flashing his teeth at Draco before dropping his gaze to Granger's. "I see. Interesting…"

Luckily, he did leave.

Granger's wide brown eyes followed his receding figure all the way to the lift, then settled them on Draco with a shaky exhale. "You realize he's probably going to go to the Board now, right? He's not above playing dirty,"

Draco shrugged.

"Worth it. He seems like a knob,"

"A knob?" She asked, ushering him into her hotel room.

"A dick," Draco replied. Her American accent was adorable.

"Oh," she laughed, "Yes, Tom is most definitely a _knob_."

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 9

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee: **"Welcome back, folks! I must say, there is a _lot_ of conversation regarding our darling Hermione Granger and I feel like we should – that we have the responsibility to – clear things up. Don't you agree, Luna?"

**Luna: **"Do Nifflers like shiny objects?"

**Lee: **"No idea! Right, let's get into it, shall we? Two days ago, just before the first Mixed Doubles match, Tom Riddle was _replaced_ by Harry Potter as Hermione Granger's partner! Unprecedented, folks! There's been a lot of speculation among the tennis community as to _why_ that is,"

**Luna: **"You're just as sane as I am."

**Lee: **"My, my! The most popular theory, Luna, is quite insane. Sources believe Granger and Riddle were intimate with one another! Totally against the rules, of course, which is absurd because we all know how Granger is a stickler for the rules."

**Luna: **"Rules are made to be broken!"

**Lee: **"Not in this sport, Luna! But don't worry, ladies and gentlemen, because we have breaking news from the Board itself about what really happened."

**Luna: **"She found Tom Riddle's diary?"

**Lee: **"Not this time! Though, who's to say that _won't_ happen? No – get this – apparently Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, has been using performance enhancing drugs! He has thus been disqualified from participating in any event for the next _two years_ as a probationary caution. Granger, who would have otherwise had to forfeit her matches for the rest of the calendar year, managed to find a loophole!"

**Luna: **"A time-turner?"

**Lee: **"Don't know what that is, but I don't think so! No, Granger was able to prove that Harry Potter, as a current member of Team USA, is able to replace Riddle for any further events so long as both parties agreed!"

**Luna: **"Nargles!"

**Lee: **"Yes, yes! So exciting! Speaking of our new dynamic duo, folks, here they come! Granger and Potter, now nicknamed _the Chosen One_, are stepping out onto the court to face the French team, Delacour and Macaron."

* * *

Hermione rapped on Harry's hotel door. It opened to reveal a tall, lean, messy black-haired boy who was decidedly _not_ Harry. Hermione blinked, then cleared her throat softly. "Hello," she said, peering behind the boy to see Harry racing toward the door with a frenzied expression across his face. "I'm Hermione Granger and… you are?"

"Granger, was it?" The boy smirked, shaking her hand and finally letting her inside. "I'm Theodore Nott, but you can just call me Theo," he winked. Hermione nodded, then glanced nervously to Harry who looked two parts panicked and one part furious.

"Sorry about him," he said quickly. "He's not – this isn't – Err,"

"It's fine Harry," Hermione assured him quickly. "I'll keep your secret just – hurry up, alright? I wanted to get to the court early to practice on my serve a bit more. Plus, your backhand could still use - "

"Yes, alright. Fine. I'll be right back," he turned swiftly, heading towards the bathroom, then paused in the doorway to point an accusatory finger at Theo. "Behave," he hissed.

"I make no promises, Potter," smirked Theo.

When Harry finally shut the door behind him, Hermione exhaled loudly. She raised her brows at Theo expectantly. "Think he bought it?"

"What, _him?_" Theo scoffed. "Yeah, he definitely bought that. He hasn't suspected a thing, though, he is rather unaware of his surroundings most of the time." Theo shook his head, biting down on his lip to hide a smile. "He's such a rotter. Oh, and don't worry about the whole secret thing. I doubt this will be a secret for much longer,"

Hermione scrutinized his smug expression.

Rather than believe he meant that their relationship would end soon, however, Hermione could tell Theo meant the very opposite. "You like him." She noted aloud. "You _like_ like him."

"What are we, twelve, Granger? Come on, now,"

She shot him a quick glare.

"Yes, _fine_. Bloody hell," he grimaced. "You truly are a menace, you know that, don't you?" She shrugged affectionately, and he continued. "If I'm being honest, I've been meaning to retire for a while now – and, yes, I _know_ I'm young – but I've been doing it for as long as I can remember. Mostly, for Draco," he paused knowingly, and Hermione averted her gaze. "Now," continued Theo, "I think I'll retire."

His blue eyes cut across the room, landing on the bathroom door.

Hermione smiled weakly. "For him?" At Theo's guarded expression, she added, "Not everyone would _frame another athlete_ in order to get not them, but their loved one - "

"Whoa," cut in Theo, "Slow down there, Granger. No one said anything about _loved ones _\- "

"_You_ may not still be in denial, Nott, but that's almost certainly what you two are. Anyway, thank you. For your hand in the whole… thing," she finished lamely, flicking her wrist.

Theo shrugged. "I never liked that Riddle bloke, but remember, it's only earned him an extended probation. He's out this year, but he won't be out forever." At the sound of the lock clicking on the bathroom door, Theo abruptly stood from his position on the bed and began pacing the length of the room. He brandished a finger toward Hermione. "- and that's why you can never be too careful in pubs around here!"

Harry sighed.

"Really?" He asked. "The thing with Quirrell again?"

"He was a sketchy bloke," sniffed Theo.

The three of them walked from the hotel to the arena mostly in silence, aside from the occasional conspiracy theory from Theo. Once they'd entered the prep-room for the court they were supposed to be competing at today, Hermione broke away from the two men to retrieve her usual energy drink from one of the training aides.

"Hey,"

She spun on her heel and nearly yelped at the sudden appearance of one not-so smug blond. "Hey," she said back once she finally caught her breath. Her eyes glanced warily around the room; it was bustling with people in anticipation of the match so, it wasn't _completely_ out of protocol for him to be there, but it wasn't exactly normal either. "What's going on?"

"Delacour," he murmured, pretending to pluck at her racquet strings in a faux demonstration; Hermione leaned in to play along. "The French woman you're up against today," he said. "She's got a wicked backspin so, be careful about that. She almost always leans toward an offensive lob, as well. She's got a tell, though. Watch her feet. She does a little dance," – Malfoy imitated the maneuver quickly – "right before she's about to go for it. If you can get to the net fast enough - "

"That would give me time to recover the ball." Hermione finished. She glanced up at him as he backed away to end his faux demonstration on her strings. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Let's just say I want to see you try and beat me with your _new partner_," teased Malfoy before collecting Theo and heading to the stands.

Hermione's head spun as she and Harry stepped out onto the court; she wanted to believe he'd been truthful, but it was difficult when there was no logical reason for it. Astonishingly, Hermione didn't have to wait long to see if Malfoy's tip had been true. The beautiful blonde woman sent an offensive lob their way within the first two minutes of the first set; neither she nor Harry had any hopes of reaching the ball before it soared above both their heads.

The next time, though, Hermione had caught the little dance and managed to (barely) save the second set. By the third one, she was able to not only predict the lob, but also send it careening over to just within their baseline.

At the end of the match, once Harry had successfully secured them a win in the third set with an ace, Hermione's eyes floated through the crowd of cheering onlookers; her brown eyes met silvery ones and her heart leapt.

Hermione, however, stuffed that particular feeling deep, _deep_ down.

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 13

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita: **"Today marks the last – and final – day of Wimbledon, ladies and gentlemen! It has been a marvelous tournament, so far, but it looks like it all comes down to this. Great Britain was thrilled to take home the gold in not only the Men's Doubles, but also the Women's Singles!"

**Gilderoy: **"Hooray!"

**Rita: **"Yes. Thus far, the French team was successful in securing gold for their country in the Women's Doubles. The newcomer, Harry Potter, of America, was able to overthrow the previous champion – in both the Australian and French Opens as well as other previous tournaments – and take the gold this time."

**Gilderoy: **"Everybody loves Harry!"

**Rita: **"Hm. Sure. Well, with his former nemesis, Tom Riddle, suspended for the next two years, I daresay he _is_ looking at a bright future. That is, unless, perhaps one of our own decides to step into the Men's Singles and take him on? Rumor has it, ladies and gentlemen, that Theodore Nott Jr. has some very exciting news to release at the end of this calendar year. Could it be that _he_ intends to break away and compete in the Men's Singles?"

**Gilderoy: **"Splendid!"

**Rita: **"You know what, Gilderoy… It _would_ be splendid. For now, however, we will have to focus on the current matter at hand. The last category to be won – the Mixed Doubles. With all of the controversy surrounding the _very newly_ formed American team, I do hope our long-time favorites, Malfoy and Parkinson, are able to take home the gold today."

**Gilderoy: **"I love gold!"

**Rita: **"That doesn't surprise me. Well, with the competition about to begin, let's take a look at our athletes, shall we?"

**Gilderoy: **"Who?"

**Rita: **"Parkinson and Malfoy step up to the court. Granger and Potter are next. All four look extremely eager to compete today. The first serve goes to Parkinson – She sends is rocketing toward Potter's corner and – Oh, he's saved it – Now, it's in Malfoy's hands – Granger was able to save that too - "

**Gilderoy: **"This is rather exciting!"

* * *

Draco's lungs _burned_.

He sprinted back and forth the backcourt because of Potter's bloody erratic swings. The first set Draco had primarily caught the ball from Potter's direction, then sent it soaring toward Granger; unintentionally, of course, but Pansy noticed.

"What the hell are you doing?" She hissed, engaging in a chip and charge shot, "Switch it up. You're predictable. Do you want to win this or not?"

Draco grimaced. He _did_ want to win so, why was he incapable of purposefully sending his best shots toward Granger? Then, again, Draco had a pretty good idea of the reasons why. Whenever he ended up near the net at the same time that she was near it, every movement brought flashbacks to the forefront of his mind; making it near impossible for him to focus.

The soft grunt that escaped her lips as her racquet connected with the ball reminded him of the similar noise she made when he encircled his fingers around her clit. The beads of sweat dripping down her neck to her décolletage reminded him of his tongue against her fragile skin, causing him to inadvertently lick his lips. Then, there was the slightly hazy look that took over her face when she saved a shot; it was parallel to her sex eyes.

Rather than argue with Pansy – because they were quite literally in the middle of the second set – he switched up his tactic and started aiming toward Potter's region. Draco lunged for a ball that barely slipped past Pansy's backhand; he ran around the backhand side and hit the ball crosscourt forehand.

He hastily wiped at the sweat dripping into his eyes with the sweatband around his wrist and shifted forward to take Pansy's place by the net as she backed up to send a flat shot toward Granger. It was Pansy's signature hit; controlled, accurate, and painting the lines.

Granger lined up the next serve, earning a quick point with an ace.

Draco cursed under his breath, then prepared for Potter's usual backspin following Pansy's serve. However, Granger lunged forward, cutting Potter off, and hit the ball just over the net. Draco didn't have time to react; he returned her near drop shot with a reflex volley and won the second match.

At their allotted five-minute break, Draco poured freezing-cold water down his face before managing to sip at the remains of the bottle. When offered another one, he declined it; if he would be running nearly as many suicides across the backcourt, then he didn't want _any _liquids sloshing around his stomach, making him slower.

"Hey," he murmured to Pansy, wiping at the sweat at the base of his neck with a towel, "We have a chance here. If we win this set, we win the match. We can dethrone the Americans and take the gold."

"I know that," snapped Pansy. "I want nothing more than to dethrone that know-it-all Granger, but do _you_, Draco?"

He blinked.

"What the bloody hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Pansy shot him a tired glare, before sobering her expression for the sake of any nearby photographers. "You know exactly what that means," she said, then lowered her voice to a whisper, "There are rumors, Draco, that you and Theo have gotten _close_ with them and - "

"Whoa," he interrupted, wrapping his hand around her wrist to halt her before they made their way back onto the court for the final set. "You can't be serious, Pans? First of all, don't drag Theo into this. Second of all, those are _just rumors_."

"So, there's absolutely no truth to them, then?"

His heart beat murderously in his chest; pressing against his ribcage and threatening to break through it. Draco sincerely hoped Pansy couldn't smell the deceit dripping from his pores.

"No."

"Good," she smirked. "Then, you shouldn't have any opposition to what I'm about to suggest." Pansy paused emphatically, slapping her racquet against the bottom of her tennis shoes. "Don't let Granger get the ball." She said. "Ever. We can handle Potter's mediocre, wild swings much better than her calculated ones. Like you said – this is _it._ We either win or we lose, and I want to win."

Draco merely nodded.

Then, Pansy tossed a ball into the air to start the final set.

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 13

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee: **"Two sets down, one to go! This is truly peak athleticism, folks! Our Granger and Potter were able to win the first set, though I will admit, it was a close one! The second set, however, went to the British Parkinson and Malfoy, but it all comes down to this last set. What do you think, Luna?"

**Luna: **"Try Gillyweed!"

**Lee: **"That's new! Oh, here they go – Parkinson sends a killer serve into Potter's corner – he forehands it back – Parkinson's got it again – OH AND THAT'S A POINT TO THE BRITS,"

**Luna: **"Team Slytherin!"

**Lee: **"Is that their nickname? I haven't heard – POTTER DIVES FOR THE BALL PREVENTING PARKINSON FROM SCORING AGAIN – This is insane, Potter is all over the ball this set. Where is Granger when – MALFOY BACKSPINS AND IT – POTTER'S GOT IT AGAIN,"

**Luna: **"Why is it always you three?"

**Lee: **"Yes, why _is it_ always the three of them? Granger has yet to touch the ball this set, which is as remarkable as it is unheard of! Perhaps, this is a strategic move on their part."

**Luna: **"Whose part?"

**Lee: **"Ooh, good point, Luna! I wonder if – OH, SHE'S GOT IT NOW – Incredible! Granger evens the score with a beautiful American twist, or more commonly known as a kick serve – and it's back to Malfoy – Potter – Parkinson – Potter – What a rally, holy cow! – Malfoy again – OH, WHOA, GRANGER WHAT THE - "

* * *

Hermione could see _exactly_ what they were trying to do; she was flattered, obviously, but mostly irate. However, this was the third set – always her best set performance-wise – which meant Hermione was able to more accurately get a feel for her opponents, compared to her previous observation. Being _on_ the court, playing against them, was key to her skill set.

Malfoy's partner, Parkinson, was difficult to read.

She was powerful, unpredictable, and had no discernable tell. It was infuriating, especially when Hermione wanted more than anything to take control of the set. So, rather than focus on Parkinson – who was clearly twice as clever as she was skilled (and she was _skilled_) – Hermione opted to switch tactics and focus on Malfoy.

He was strong, quick, and so fucking _hot_. It made it difficult for her to see him as an opponent, especially when all she could think about was his body pressed up against hers, his mouth on hers, and his witty tongue –

Hermione blinked.

As a shot soared past her ear, aiming itself at Harry, something clicked in Hermione's labyrinth of knowledge.

Malfoy had a tell.

Not only did he have a tell, but he was probably unaware of it; this was doubly beneficial to Hermione. She crouched, attempting – and failing – to interfere in one of the forehands Parkinson sent flying toward Harry again. Hermione watched carefully as the ball connected with Malfoy's racquet. His tongue flicked over his lips just before his eyes landed on the incoming ball. It went careening over the net back toward Harry. That particular maneuver was one of his favorites; a reflex volley.

Hermione waited for the next time the ball went towards him and he flicked his tongue over his lips; when it did, at the opportune moment, Hermione interceded and managed to successfully steal the ball. She hit a swift backspin toward their no-man's land, earning a point.

Only one more and they would win.

And she would be serving for the set.

Hermione could taste victory in the salty sweat dripping from her lips.

She smirked mercilessly at Harry, earning a flashing grin from him, then accepted a ball from one of the ball boys; it bounced on the court once, twice, before she launched it into the air, just above her voluminous curls.

Hermione's specialty – other than accurately discerning other players' strengths and weaknesses – was her serve.

The ball landed with ease in the far corner at the back of their service box and with too much power on it for Parkinson to save it; the ace not only won Hermione and Harry the set, but also the overall match. They were the champions.

Hermione was a champion, again.

Now, she only needed to win the Mixed Doubles at the US Open next month for this year to be the _perfect_ debut year for her international tennis career; at her age, too, it would be one hell of an achievement. That is, of course, if a certain British duo didn't take it from her.

She handed her racquet to an aide before approaching Parkinson and Malfoy at the net. She shook hands with Parkinson first, noting that although the other woman wore a smile across her pink lips, there was a flash of anger behind her dark eyes. They nodded to each other, mumbled, "Well done," and moved on.

When Malfoy shifted to stand in front of her, Hermione had to resist the urge to wrap her hands around his neck. They were still very much in the public eye, and their relationship was still _very much_ forbidden.

However, she caught the glint of mischief in the curl of his upper lip that clued her into how she was going to pay for one-upping him later; her stomach twisted into knots at the thought of his hands on her… his lips…

"Good game," she murmured, a bit out of breath (and not from the match).

"Yes," he replied, shaking her hand and gripping it tightly. "Well done, Granger."

She didn't let go; neither did he.

After realizing that Harry was lingering nearby, ready to head off the court, and that they had clearly been offering niceties for far too long, Hermione reluctantly dropped her hand. She brushed past him to join Harry and hoist up their well-earned trophies. As she clipped his side, though, Hermione tugged inconspicuously on the hem of his shirt.

"See you at the US Open next month, _Malfoy?_"

His head dropped so that his mouth lingered near her ear; his breath hot against her skin.

"I look forward to it,"

* * *

**A/N - **Hopefully, this prequel hasn't completely ruined the original for any of you. If it did then I regret to inform you there will be a sequel for the original coming soon xx


	41. Pour L'Adrénaline

_**Pour L'Adrénaline**_

_Rating: _T (mostly)

_Pairing: _Hinny (Harry x Ginny)

_Summary: _In a race around the world, Harry and Ginny discover they have more in common than their death-defying hobbies. Muggle AU.

**A/N (important!) – **As you may have noticed, this is _not_ a Dramione pairing one shot. I will – henceforth and furthermore – be writing more than simply Dramione pairing stories in this collection. If that upsets you, then I implore you simply skip the stories that are not to your preferred pairing. If you are, however, brave enough to read on, then I thank you! (It should be noted that Dramione pairings will continue to dominate this collection.)

* * *

The cold, north wind was numbing, but it would be nothing compared to the icy, treacherous waters below. Ginny peered over the edge of the cliff, her toes dangling off the unstable rock, and was forcibly yanked back by her guide with a harsh string of obscenities directed at her reckless stance.

She shrugged, unbothered.

Ignoring the scowl that the other man shot her way, she fumbled for her phone to see who could possibly be calling her at a time like this: it was one of her brothers. Ginny clicked the phone off and slid it back into its protective case.

"Just, hurry up and take the video, will you?"

"Fine," the guide grumbled, fumbling for his waterproof Go-Pro as she dug out the laminated sign from the inner lining of her wetsuit. "Alright," he said, "Three… two… one,"

Ginny smirked as the red light gleamed, signaling its recording, then stepped backwards and fell off the cliff; the cold air rushed up around her, entangling her flaming hair.

In the brief moment of suspension before she hit the water, Ginny welcomed the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins; her heart pounded loudly, so much so that she couldn't hear anything outside of its erratic beating. A smile broke out across her face seconds before she plummeted into the freezing water.

Testing her limit, she stayed under the water for as long as possible, until her lungs burned and threatened to burst. This was known as voluntary apnea, Ginny knew, and it was an interesting, yet confounding, experience; when a person is drowning, they don't actually inhale water until right before they black out because no matter how frightening the situation is, the instinct not to let any water in is so strong that it overpowers the desire to breathe. When her head began to feel like it would implode, Ginny recognized the final signal that she needed oxygen now or this would be it: the one time she gave into that slightly suicidal tendency of hers.

Her head broke the water and her lungs greedily expanded with the chilling air.

She beamed.

Swimming back to the base of the rock, intending to begin the long trek back to the top to jump again, Ginny contemplated this adventure's caption. Should she aim for something daring and brave, highlighting the danger of the feat, or should she go for something more casual, as if the whole ordeal was a bit boring – an ordinary Tuesday if you will?

Shivering as the harsh winds met the exposed skin at the base of her neck, Ginny weighed her options.

Already, her sign would anger her mum, but which caption would make her six brothers envious?

Decisions, decisions.

* * *

Harry fished out his phone, sliding his thumb across the screen to answer the incoming call. He balanced precariously against a semi-solid rock jutting out from the mountain and brought the phone to his ear with his free hand.

"Hello?"

"Hiya, mate,"

"Hey, Ron," he huffed, slightly out of breath from physical exertion, "What's up?"

"Oh – Err – I was wondering if you had a minute, but if you're busy–"

He glanced at his footing, not impressed with his chances of not slipping, but at the same time, this was hardly the most life-threatening position he found himself in. Harry took a moment to steady his breathing, then cleared his throat and directed his attention back to his mate on the other line. They hadn't talked in a while, not since they both graduated from Uni and moved away, but that was normal, Harry supposed.

"No, it's fine. I'm fine. Now's a good a time as any," he replied, attempting for a casual tone. "Did you need something?"

"Well, I was wondering – Err – I mean – I thought you might be interested–"

Harry's fingers, gripping onto a rock just above his head, began to cramp, but luckily the other line cut off abruptly. He shifted to put his phone back in the zipped pocket of his jacket and was suddenly aware of a rather high-pitch voice emanating from it.

Tentatively, Harry lifted it back to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Harry," breathed a familiar feminine voice.

"Hermione," he said brightly. "Hello! How are you?"

"I'm wonderful, Harry, thanks for asking. I'll get straight to the point because Ron – Well – Never mind Ron, but anyway, Harry – Are you still – I mean, do you still like going off on those… adventures?"

He blinked.

She was trying to be polite, he knew, with her phrasing of his favorite pastime.

"Err – Yeah," he replied, daring to hoist himself up one-handed so as to relieve the pain in his other hand somewhat.

Most climbers, or ordinary people without a death wish (which he didn't have, though he was accused of having one often enough over the years that he recognized the similarities), would not have attempted this advanced climb without ropes or a belay device. At the very least, they would have a buddy.

Harry brought neither.

Thus, the longer he stayed on this call, the more likely he was to injure himself, and as much as Harry invited the few seconds of weightlessness, he possessed no desire to fall at this height. Breaking all the bones in his right arm as a child was a nightmare, and he was certain if he were to fall right now, he would break more than that.

"Hermione," Harry said, interrupting her going on and on about something one of Ron's many siblings apparently did, "Can I call you back?"

"Hm? Oh… Sure, of course, Harry. Talk to you later,"

"Bye," he said, slipping his smartphone back into his pocket with just enough time to relieve the surmounting pressure on his other hand. Harry resumed the climb, eager to get to the top; the day was surprisingly clear for late April in the Scottish Highlands and he couldn't wait to see the view.

Seeing the richest views that the world offered always caused his heart to lurch in his chest, which is something that the number reflected in his bank account never did, much to his mate's bewilderment. What Ron didn't understand was that money wasn't everything, specifically not the money he'd been left after his parents' death.

Unlike his trust fund, the so-called adventures sparked true happiness, especially when there was a magnificent view.

Because he'd earned it.

* * *

"You did _what?_"

Ron backed away, holding his hands in the air defensively.

"I just thought since you–"

"No. No you didn't. You _didn't_ think." Ginny fumed, pacing the flat she shared with Hermione and looking for something to throw at her older brother. "What makes you think I would want to do something like that?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you're always off doing stupid stuff like that anyway! Might as well get paid for it, right?" He replied, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

Ginny narrowed her eyes.

"Absolutely not! I'm not doing it. You can't make me," she huffed. "Besides – You mentioned there have to be teams of two?" He nodded reluctantly, glancing askance at Hermione for help. "Well, there you are. I don't have a team, and I can't compete if I don't have a team. Now, go away, I need to get back to planning my next trip."

"Err – That's the thing," Ron said, "You _do_ have a team."

Ginny's head snapped up.

"_Come again?_"

"Well, you have to be nominated see–"

"And the application was really quite easy, you fit the profile so well, Gin," input Hermione

"– except for the part where you need a partner, because we didn't know anyone as reckless as you. I mean who on _earth_ would be willing to–"

"Get to the point, Ronald," seethed Ginny.

"Right – Err – Well, we found you someone."

"You _what?_"

"Technically," Hermione said, "Ron found someone–"

"You called!"

"No, _you_ called him. I just–"

"_Him?_" Ginny said, interrupting their minor banter. "Who is 'him'?" She paused, holding up her hand to cut them off before they answered her. "Never mind. I don't want to know. I don't need to know because I'm – Not – Going,"

"But – But we–" stammered Ron.

Hermione took the laptop away from Ginny and brandished a very motherly finger in her face. "Ginevra," she commanded, "You _will_ go. We've nominated you. They are _thrilled_ to have you, _and,_" she continued, wagging the finger to keep Ginny from another outburst, "we've already told him, and he's agreed to be your partner. This is a great opportunity for you to make friends in your… field."

"What if I don't want to make friends?"

"Tough," ruled Hermione.

"If you don't want to make friends, at least try and make some money," input Ron hastily. "There's a million pounds on the line if you win, and honestly I don't see how you won't with the two of you paired together," he added, shaking his head. "Think of all the trips you could plan with that."

Ginny pursed her lips.

She hated the thought of going on some dumb, reality television show with someone she didn't know nor trust, but it seemed she didn't have much of a choice at the moment. Besides, her brother was right (not that she would _ever_ tell him that); the money was enticing enough to consider this crazy ordeal.

She sighed.

"Who is he?"

* * *

Starring on a reality television show in a race around the world was not the wildest thing Harry ever planned on doing, but it was certainly up there. He was nervous – Not about the race, though; he'd already backpacked two continents by himself, and by the pretense of the show, what they were asking of the teams wasn't all-that different. No, what Harry was anxious about was the girl he was going to be spending the next month traveling around the world with.

He wasn't sure why he was nervous because he'd met several of Ron's siblings throughout their years at Uni and they were wonderful (mostly, but Percy was a special case), but he never met Ron's younger sister.

Ron and Hermione assured him that they would get on swimmingly, and while he was wont to believe them given their enthusiasm, within the first thirty seconds of meeting Ginny Weasley, he was less sure they were right.

"You're late," she said.

"I know," he replied, sliding into the seat opposite her in the dreary coffee shop. "Sorry," he added as an afterthought. "I'm Harry,"

"I gathered that much," she quipped. Her brown eyes peered at him, scrutinizing every feature of his face, and Harry fought the urge to squirm under her strong gaze. "Ginny," she finally said, offering him her hand. "Ron tells me you two went to Uni together," she said. "You must have also met Fred and George then I take it?"

"Only once or twice. They're a good time,"

"They're my favorites," she said with a hint of approval in her tone. "Well… _were. _Anyway, don't tell them that. It'll go straight to their already inflamed egos,"

Harry nodded, giving her hand a firm shake and then replacing his in his lap, wiping it on his trousers and praying she didn't notice the sweat on his palms. By the way her eyes flitted to the door every time someone entered or exited, he imagined not much went unnoticed around her.

"How come you didn't attend Uni with us? You don't look too much younger than Ron,"

She shrugged. "I was busy doing other things."

The non-answer struck Harry as odd, and he made a mental reminder to do a bit of social media digging after this meeting. She looked familiar and a thought pricked at the back of his mind that he knew her from somewhere; it could be that he was imagining things and that he remembered seeing her in some of Ron's family photos in their dorm, but his instincts felt it was something more than that.

"So," he said, clearing his throat and thanking the waitress when she arrived with their drinks. "Don't you think we should get to know each other a little better before this whole thing starts?"

She scoffed, "You think knowing my favorite color is going to help us win?"

"No," he replied, raising his eyebrows pointedly, playing off her sarcasm with a knowing smirk. "We both know that won't make any difference. Besides, it's obviously scarlet–"

"How did you–"

"Never mind that," Harry's smirk grew infinitesimally. He was nearly always right; his instincts were unmatched. "I was thinking more along the lines of travel experience and things like that. Knowing our strengths, weaknesses, preferences, and whatever else…"

He trailed off, catching her mouth momentarily gaping and was overcome by the urge to bite her lip. Repressing this desire, he blinked and motioned for her to begin the conversation.

She stared at him, unspeaking, for several long minutes, then finally asked, "Planes or trains?"

"Trains," he replied instantly. "I hate flying."

"You hate flying?" She repeated. "What the hell–"

"It doesn't stop me." Harry quickly input, cutting her off before she could fully go off on him. Understandably, since flying would likely take up a considerable portion of their travels around the world.

"Say I believe you–"

"Which you should."

"– how do you cope?"

Harry shrugged.

"Typically, some form of pharmaceutical drug. Half a Xanny usually does the trick for longer flights,"

Ginny's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile, then resumed their pursed state. "We likely won't have access to those. Pesky guidelines when broadcasting on national television, you understand. What then?"

Again, he shrugged.

"I'll figure something out." He took a languid sip of his coffee. "Are we really going to keep talking about this? Surely there are more interesting topics to discuss." He paused, then nodded to her hand, where an amber ring glinted under the harsh lighting. "Polish?"

"Yes," she confirmed, absently twisting the ring.

"It's pretty," he commented drily, watching intently for her reaction. Relief flooded his veins when a spark of anger flashed behind her eyes.

"I didn't buy it because it's _pretty_," she snapped. "I'm not one of those girls that just – that goes off and – I'm not _ignorant_–"

"I know," he smiled, taking hold of her wrist to stop her from leaving. "I presume you're familiar with the Polish legend associated with amber, then?"

Ginny nodded, slowly sinking back into her seat. "Are you?"

"Very," Harry replied. He always made a point of knowing the history and culture of places he visited, and from her violent reaction, it seemed that Ginny did too. "I've never been, if I'm being honest. It's one of the few places I have yet to visit, though I always like to familiarize myself with stories involving lightning so, I know the legend well."

"Lightning?"

Harry nodded.

He lifted his wayward hair to reveal the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead and watched her eyes widen, taking in its details.

"Accident?" She guessed.

"Something like that," he non-answered, and they both leaned back, growing more comfortable with one another as their personalities revealed likenesses.

* * *

Harry Potter was… something.

Ginny never – _never_ – felt that way about someone within the first thirty seconds of meeting them.

His emerald eyes followed her every movement, and his stupid, perfect lips mocked her with every smirk; she wondered how many girls he loved and left haunted. Determined not to be one of those girls in the future, Ginny quickly threw up her defenses. Most men, from her experience at least, would have seen her rough exterior and smart mouth as a challenge – as an invitation to break down her walls.

Not him.

True, there was something inherently dangerous about the way he looked at her, but other than that Harry Potter was a complete gentleman; he made the occasional comment but didn't dare attempt more than that. Where most men tried too hard to win her affections, he didn't try at all; where Ginny typically dated older men to try and weed out this particular behavior, he was younger yet more mature than all of her ex's combined.

A paradox.

A very _hot_ paradox.

"Ginny?"

Bringing herself back to reality, she blinked up at him, noting that his hair was extremely disheveled that morning, adding to his roguish appearance.

"Yes?"

"What do you think – About Face or Pancake Race?"

He held up their Detour card and pointed at the two options they encountered; the first leg of the race took place in their home country, and in bustling London on a mid-summer's day no less. She couldn't guess what the first might be about, but she would rather take on that challenge than any potentially involving food.

"About Face," she replied.

"Alright then," he agreed. "About Face, it is,"

As it turns out, that particular task required them to travel to Somerset House where they dressed up as members of the Queen's Guard and learned the complex steps of the Changing of the Guard ceremony.

Harry kept tripping and eying Ginny's swift foot movements with furrowed brows.

She laughed, "It's really not that difficult, Harry,"

"Easy for you to say," he grumbled, glancing nervously at the parade captain studying them, then added in a whisper, "Military?"

"Hm?"

"Military," he repeated. "Is that what you did instead of Uni? It would explain your footwork. Or, were you a dancer?"

"Do I look like a dancer to you?"

Harry smirked, "You've certainly got the legs for it, Ginny, but your attitude on the other hand…" He trailed off and she smacked him when the parade captain wasn't looking.

"_Focus_," she hissed, half-reprimanding. "Watch me."

"Oh, I am."

Ginny tilted her chin down, using her loose hair to cover the heat rising to her cheeks; he was being exceptionally flirtatious today, and if she assumed any hope of making it through the next month without giving in to his cheeky insinuations, then she ought to focus, too.

At Christ Church, they were each given a bowler hat and an umbrella which they were instructed to carry for the remainder of the leg.

Harry's impression of Churchill was spot on, and Ginny couldn't help but laugh in spite of herself.

"Harry!" She squealed when his umbrella nearly flew into the busy street. She had half a mind to give him a lecture right then, rather than later that night when cameras wouldn't be on them, but then her eye caught on something tucked inside the umbrella. "What's this?"

It was an Express Pass, giving them to option to search for a building in Oxford rather than head straight to the finish; it would provide them with a lovely head start on the next leg, which was tempting, but Ginny pointed out that neither of them knew where they stood among the other teams.

"We could be wasting precious time by trying to track it down," she argued. "We should just head for the Pit Stop,"

"We won't be wasting time," he assured her, tugging her along with one hand and holding onto his bowler hat with the other to prevent it flying off. "I know exactly where this Inn is," Harry said. "I used to live in London, remember?"

"Oh, right, Uni. Still, I don't think–"

"Don't you trust me?"

His emerald eyes sparkled, and Ginny's stomach flipped.

"No," she breathed.

She was rewarded with a mischievous grin and another firm tug toward Oxford.

"Come on,"

At the hotel that night, Harry flashed her another triumphant smile. They'd finished first _and_ successfully secured the Express Pass. Ginny rolled her eyes and set her phone alarm for the following morning; they needed to be up at an ungodly hour, which she did not look forward to at all.

"Don't say it," she warned him.

Harry smirked.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Ginny," he said, getting into the twin bed opposite her.

The _I told you so_ hung in the air between them. She sighed, "You're the worst." Then, clicked off the light and settled herself between the sheets, desperate to dream of something other than his dastard lips on hers.

"Goodnight, Ginny," he called into the darkness.

She smiled into her pillow, grateful he couldn't see her expression, then forced a dry, monotonous tone in her reply. "Goodnight, Harry,"

* * *

"_I_ _knew_ I knew you from somewhere," Harry said, sidling up next to Ginny.

"Yeah," she commented, rolling her eyes, "My idiot brother. Obviously,"

"No, not just that," he said, waving away the fact as if it was a fly on the wall. "You're that Sign Girl."

He pulled out his phone, angled it towards her, and showed her a photo on a blog post; there was a gif of a figure bobbing in and out of view – in a boomerang of a bungee jump fall – with a laminated sign held in front of their chest that read: _I'm fine, Mum!_ Below the gif, the author of the blog (named _The Quibbler_) completely disregarded the irony of the sign paired with the stunt and pointed out that the canyon was believed to be the home to a species known as the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

"That's you, isn't it?"

"I'm a shite writer, Harry," she replied coolly, "and I have no idea what the hell a Humble-Horned Snortback is,"

"Crumple-Horned Snorkack," he corrected out of habit, then frowned at her and put his phone away. "That's you holding the sign, isn't it? I've seen your pictures everywhere," Harry exclaimed, excited to have gotten another one of his hunches about her correct. "Why do you do it?"

"I thought that was fairly obvious from the context of the sign," she smirked.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"You know what I mean," he added under his breath.

She pretended to ignore him and instead tapped his forearm impatiently. "Hand me that piece over there,"

Harry obliged, handed her an oblong puzzle piece, and watched as she fitted it into the wooden puzzle according to its beveled edges and painted designs.

"You almost done?"

Ginny spared a minute to give him a full, long glare.

Harry backtracked quickly, "_You_ said you didn't want me anywhere near the puzzle."

"Because you've been an utter nightmare about it," she commented. "Please make a note that puzzles are one of your weaknesses."

"But research is not," he countered, flashing his phone screen in front of her again. This time, it displayed her Instagram feed; it was full of video clips and photos of her doing what ordinary people would call bold acts, all while holding the same _I'm fine, Mum!_ sign. "Almost four million followers? Not bad, Ginny, not bad."

"Shut up," she remarked, backhanding him and stepping back from her masterpiece. The puzzle was complete, and after a moment to reflect on Ginny's work, he whisked her away and back down the ladder to where the zip lines awaited them.

"Come on," he said, turning to help her strap in.

"I can do it myself–"

"I know,"

"Then, why the hell are you–"

"Because I can." Harry quipped. "Because I want to. And because now I can do _this_," and with a mischievous grin, Harry pushed Ginny off onto the zip line track and watched her zoom off across the Moroccan canyons of the Atlas Mountains in Tahannaout.

"_Harry!_"

He laughed as he, with his zip line running parallel to hers, caught up to her; in their brief moment of interaction before he ultimately passed her, Harry beamed unapologetically. Ginny, much to his delight, presented him ceremoniously with a nasty finger – he imagined the crew attempting to cut that out and blew her a kiss for good measure.

Ginny took revenge by driving to their next task, and Harry held on for dear life as she sped through the busy market streets and minor sand dunes in a vehicle that was not well-equipped for off-roading.

"You're the worst," he muttered, shaking his head.

They emerged at the Pit Stop, finishing second behind a father-son duo known as the Diggory's. Ginny looked a bit upset at not finishing first, but regained her benevolent composure quickly, and sported a polite smile. Harry could tell the smile didn't reach her eyes, and even though her lapse in happiness appeared silly and passing, he was suddenly overcome with the desire to ensure nothing ever doused her flame again.

Harry nudged her as the cameras directed their attention to the incoming third place team. "It's only the first week," he reminded her. "Don't worry, we'll win."

"I thought you were only doing this because you had nothing better to do this summer?"

Harry shrugged.

"I have other intentions for being here now,"

Later that night, Harry climbed the narrow staircase to their shared bedroom and crossed the room to retrieve his toothbrush. "Wow, I really need to brush up on my Arabic," he said, chuckling under his breath as he met Ginny's eye across the room. "When the host family said goodnight, I either said, 'Thank you for having us' or 'Forget me, I'm soup'. By the funny looks the son gave me, I'm going to presume it was the latter,"

Ginny's lips twitched into a sly grin, and Harry felt himself smile in turn; her smile was contagious, albeit rare.

"I'll take the floor," Harry said, gesturing to where Ginny was readying the only bed in the room. "Just – Toss me a pillow, will you?"

She blinked; a gentle frown formed across her face.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," she chided, "We're both adults. There's no need for you to sleep on the floor."

It was a stupid thing to be happy about, and yet, there he was, internally grinning from ear to ear.

"You're an only child, aren't you?" She said as Harry slid cautiously into bed beside her, careful not to let any of his limbs linger too close to hers. He nodded. "I can tell," she explained, "because you look so uncomfortable to be sharing a bed with me – Well – Let me rephrase that – Sharing a bed with someone in a platonic way," she laughed.

Harry arched a brow.

"How does being an only child have anything to do with that?"

"I've had to share beds with my brothers more than once, especially when visitors came to stay. We lived in a small house you see. At least, as the only girl, I only had to share when we were far past maximum capacity," Ginny said.

"Oh," he said. "Yeah, I suppose I've never done anything like that. I've stayed in hostels with dozens of people in the same room, but – It's not the same – I always had my own bed."

Ginny nodded.

He expected her expression to reflect some form of resentment for his upbringing being so wildly different from hers, even with the simple privilege of space, but it didn't; if anything, she looked understanding and, if he was not mistaken, a bit sorry.

"I wish I had a brother or sister," he murmured.

"Or several?"

When their laughter died down, Harry spoke up again.

"Speaking of family," he said, earning lifted brows from Ginny. "How come you only talk about your childhood? You never mention anything more recent, and then there's the sign–"

"No offense, Harry, but I don't want to talk about it, ok? Goodnight,"

Without another word, Ginny shifted to blow out the bedside candle and delivered them both to darkness.

* * *

The next morning, they headed off to Italy.

Harry didn't bring up her family, to which Ginny was immensely grateful. She wanted to show her gratitude for his abiding by this personal boundary by being exceptionally accommodating on their flight. Per every flight – knowing that he despised planes and flying – Ginny made a note to make Harry as comfortable as possible.

She knew he liked to talk, and that he was overly fond of getting to know her, so she opted to share some personal stories of her various travels and daring adventures; that topic was safe. It was a brilliant idea because Harry was readily enthused by the topic and immediately began retelling some of his best – and worst – stories as well.

"The _cow_ chased you?" She exclaimed in disbelief. "I thought they were gentle animals."

"Not this one, at least," he replied. "I was stuck on top of that brick wall for _hours_. It wouldn't leave me alone! Finally, once the sun went down, I was able to sneak off the wall and make a good run for it."

"You're kidding,"

"I wish," Harry said. "Sometimes I still jump when I hear a cow mooing."

"That's incredible. Meanwhile, I have a perfectly irrational fear of penguins."

"No, that's perfectly rational. They're mean sons of bitches," he agreed.

Ginny threw up her hands excitedly, "Yes! Exactly! Everyone thinks they're so nice and cuddly – probably because of Pingu – but they're not! I swear I almost got pecked to the bone when I was on an escapade in the Galapagos."

"Oh man, _Galapagos penguins? _I'm surprised you made it out alive," Harry joked, laughing. "How long did you stay in the Galapagos for?"

"A month," Ginny said with a thin smile, "though I wish I was able to stay for longer. There was so much wildlife, and the diving was amazing."

"Scuba?"

"Obviously,"

From mainland Italy, they took a boat with the other leading team but mostly kept to themselves, talking excitedly over the edge of the boat and pointing at every dolphin sighting.

"I bet you've done that tourist photo op with a dolphin," he taunted, shooting her a sidelong smirk.

Ginny returned the haughty expression and said, "I have actually."

"I bet you got a kiss, too."

"Yeah, but it wasn't that good. A bit wet,"

"Well, it _is_ a dolphin, Ginny," he said, rolling his eyes.

Ginny's mischievous grin twitched upwards, and she leaned in close to whisper, "I was talking about the photographer, actually," and reveled in Harry's coughing fit that immediately followed. "I'm joking," she added.

"Are you?"

His tone was skeptical, and rightfully so; she laughed.

"Maybe, maybe not,"

They continued to banter and chat in a lighthearted, friendly manner over the next several legs of the race. It was easy, comfortable, and thoroughly blissful, which only made it that much harder for Ginny to pretend like she wasn't totally into him. If he were to be the one to close the infinitesimal distance between them, she would fall – and fall _hard_.

The worst of it was that Ginny believed she deeply misunderstood him at their initial meeting.

His roguish attitude and treasonous good looks were, perhaps, a façade; where she thought him to be a robber, running off and stealing hearts and never saying sorry, he was quite the opposite. Ginny got the impression that Harry Potter, despite all of his chivalry and infectious courage, had very little experience when it came to wooing women.

Conversely, Ginny was quite the maneater.

This particular feeling sat unkindly in the pit of her stomach, constantly turning it over and over, nearly making her sick; as much as she wanted him – wanted to be with him – she feared that she would ruin him in the process.

He was too good for that.

Too good for her.

Yet, in the middle of the night – in her dreams – they did unspeakable things that made her burn for his touch and his love even more.

"This is it," Harry said, jarring Ginny from her thoughts of his lips and his hands on her. "This is the apocalypse,"

"Don't be so dramatic," she mocked, peering at the Roadblock card in his hands. Their next task, meant to stall their arrival to that leg's Pit Stop by a few hours and potentially ruin their lead, involved mildly war-like tactics.

"Looks like your militaristic skills are going to come in handy here," he commented.

Ginny hailed a cab and asked him to drive to Ill-Monti Valletta, the most popular outdoor market in Malta. They were given two marks, which they must successfully identify within thirty minutes, and any mistakes would cost them additional time; then, once the marks were identified, they were instructed to covertly pass them 'illegal papers'.

"I told you," she sighed. "Not military."

"Then what _did_ you do instead of Uni?"

Ginny ignored this and pointed at a well-wrapped slice of cheese in the nearest market stall. "Here, we'll buy a few of these and put the papers between the wax seal and the paper wrapping. That should conceal the papers well enough and keep them from getting cheese all over them as well."

"Are you sure you weren't military?" Harry pressed. "Royal Navy? Air?"

"No," she scoffed. "I'm positive. Now, we just need to find our marks."

"Easy," Harry grinned. "They're over there, by the rugs – _What the hell are you doing?_ – Don't look!" He swore under his breath, then play-acted taking a selfie of them, all the while describing the two men in the background of the photo. "See them?"

Ginny nodded.

"How did you spot them so quickly?"

"I have amazing eyesight,"

"You wear glasses," she pointed out.

"That's just to level the playing field," he smirked.

They made it to their last task of the Malta leg in record time, with broad grinning smiles painted across both of their faces; this challenge, most likely invented to stall others, was right up their alley. Harry gestured to one of the rappel lines.

"Ladies first,"

"Off you go then," Ginny retorted. Harry laughed – a full and beautiful laugh that momentarily mesmerized Ginny – then took hold of the rappel and began descending into the Blue Grotto.

Once they were both in the water, they swam into a cave to pick up their final clue, telling them where the Pit Stop was located. The cave was enchanting, but the clue was hiding in a dark crevice that was difficult for them both to fit in, and so, Ginny ended up pressed right up against Harry's heavily expanding chest.

She inhaled the intoxicating scent of Harry's cologne.

Her eyes dropped to his lips; they were slick with saltwater. For a second, Ginny considered kissing him. The camera crew followed them into the cave, of course, but they hung back in the water because there was no room for them all to fit in the crevice; this was as good an opportunity as any.

Before she could muster up the courage to bring herself to kiss him, however, Harry cleared his throat and held up the card, "Guess we better get going, eh? Don't want to be late and risk getting eliminated."

"Yeah," she said, blinking.

* * *

Harry wanted to know everything about Ginny Weasley, but he didn't dare bring up any sensitive topics or anything remotely related to her family. For one, because he was certain he met the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and he did not intend to push her away. For another, because they were only halfway through the competition, and they still were obligated to spend every minute of the next two weeks at each other's side… until they _weren't_.

"Wait – What?"

"You're my partner," sniffed a very presumptuous young woman; she didn't look any older than Harry, but there was a superior air to her personality that rivaled even his arrogance.

"I heard you the first time," he grumbled.

She pursed her lips. "Could have fooled me," she said, then held out her hand at the pointed cough of a crew member, "I'm Pansy Parkinson," she told him, forcing a pleasant smile across her stiff face.

Harry wanted to recoil at her touch; she was far from Ginny's warmth and he longed for her company now more than ever. However, plagued by his inherently British manners, Harry shook her hand and returned the polite smile with a more welcoming grin.

"Harry Potter," he told her briskly.

Pansy was unlike Ginny in all the worst ways. Where he and Ginny were often on the same page when it came to planning a route, solving clues, and completing tasks with their complementary strengths, Pansy was the complete opposite; they argued at nearly every transportation point and struggled to come to an agreement with the clues.

It wasn't until they were halfway through their first task – a Detour – that Harry spotted Ginny with her new partner; they were only supposed to be switching for this leg, with the added incentive to get along because the last two teams to finish would be dropped, no matter where their partner finished.

"Hey," she greeted, waving at him from the back of her horse; she seemed unsteady but confidently so, and it caused Harry's chest to expand. "I reckon we can place all of these poacher pieces back on the path before you two can," she taunted, smirking askance at her new partner (Pansy's original partner and fiancé). "What do you think, Neville – think we can take them?"

Before Neville could answer, Pansy cut him off.

"You two? Beat us?" She let out a high-pitch snigger, "_Please_,"

"What's the matter?" Ginny leered. "Afraid of a little competition?"

"Competition?" She scoffed, then whipped her horse around to face Harry with a steel gaze. "What do you say, Potter?"

His eyes shifted from Pansy's dark ones, to the nervous blue of Neville's, then finally to the warm brown of Ginny's and forced a familiar mischievous smirk across his lips. If there was one thing he learned about Ginny, it was that she was highly competitive; betting on a victory against one another was a sure way to make her see how perfectly they fit together.

At the very least it would incentivize Pansy to get along better with him for the sake of winning; she appeared to be equally as competitive.

"Last one to finish is at the mercy of the winner this evening," Harry ruled.

"Deal," Ginny said, grinning.

Without another glance in their direction, Pansy sent her horse into a full gallop and tore off toward the first marking on the map; the Detour – named Rhino Track – involved riding horses along a marked path through a Rhino reserve in rural Zimbabwe, along the way spotting and collecting eight pieces of evidence left behind by poachers. Then, they returned to the starting point. This is where they ran into the others. After that, they were tasked with following a set of clues meant to instruct where to correctly place the eight pieces in the reserve.

Harry knew that Ginny was gifted with puzzles, but Pansy informed him that Neville was decidedly _not_.

As for he and his partner, both were equally mediocre at solving puzzles.

It took longer than he'd have liked, and when they both hopped off the back of their horses at the end of the task, it was disheartening not to see the other two anywhere in sight.

"They're probably lost," said Pansy. "Neville, sweet boy that he is – I love him to bits – is terrible with directions. _Twice_ last leg we narrowly missed key tasks because he sent us in the complete opposite direction."

"Why didn't you take over the navigation?"

"I did," she half-snapped.

"Then, I don't see how–"

"_Look_," Pansy hissed, pointing to the Pit Stop.

Across Imire Lake – where the teams were instructed to paddle a makeshift raft from shore to shore – stood Ginny and Neville, both wearing broad, triumphant grins, standing beside the host of the television show.

"Bloody hell," Harry groaned.

Once they reached the Pit Stop, they switched back to their original partners, where they could officially check-in and receive their placement; neither team would be eliminated as they weren't in the bottom two to finish, however, that did little to comfort Harry and Pansy who, according to their bet, still finished after their partners.

"That was fun," Ginny said once they settled into their huts for the night.

The stars shone brightly overheard in the deep blue night sky, and Harry slid over on the top step of the porch to make room for her to sit. She did and, either slyly or without thinking, leaned her head against his shoulder.

Harry stiffened.

Was this a sign? Was he meant to wrap his arm around her – or _kiss her?_

Before his brain could form a complete thought, however, Ginny lifted her head back up and peered up at the twinkling stars.

"I was in an accident," she blurted out. "Sort of."

Harry swallowed; blood rushed back to his head… from elsewhere… and it took him a minute to formulate a response.

"An accident?"

"Yeah, though it wasn't because I was in the military, or a dancer, so don't go getting carried away with that theory of yours," she said softly, sparing him a fleeting smirk.

Harry blinked.

Finally, he registered what they were talking about.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't–"

"I do," she said, cutting him off but offering a reassuring smile that melted his heart. "I want to talk about it… with you." Harry stilled, waiting for her to go on. "I played youth football, and I was really good at it," she smirked. "I signed on to play for St Mary's with every intention to play professionally after graduation, preferably for Arsenal Women's because then I could stay in London and room with Ron."

"We could have met," Harry realized aloud. "We might have been flatmates."

"Yeah," she smiled, "that occurred to me."

"But – Ron moved away after Uni, didn't he? To be closer to family, I think." He wasn't entirely sure, because he'd moved away as well, and they hadn't kept close touch since then. "Was that because of you?"

"No," she sighed. "That would be because of Mum."

Harry wanted to ask a hundred different questions for clarification purposes, but he waited patiently for her to go on, knowing that Ginny needed comfortable space to open up properly.

"I spent the summer before I was supposed to attend St Mary's at their football training camp. It was brutal but nothing I couldn't handle or didn't secretly like; the aching muscles and turf burn weren't new. But, during a scrimmage match, I slid for a strike and collided with the goalie. She walked away with a few bruises, but my knee was torn to shreds. All three ligaments – _Gone_,"

"Ouch," Harry winced, "I'm sorry,"

"Yeah, well, me too. It ruined my football career, and I went through loads of physical therapy to get it anywhere close to normal function." She gave him a tentative smile. "I was a bit lost, after that–"

"Understandably,"

"Not to Mum," she countered with a low chuckle. "I went off to go discover myself or whatever, but that mostly just meant pushing my body to its limits and edging closer and closer to death with whatever daring activity I could find."

Harry nodded, returning the knowing smile; he could relate.

"Anyway, after a while I sort of just… stopped going home. Cut off all communications with my family, except for sending a Happy Birthday or Happy Christmas text," Ginny confessed. "The sign," she said, giving him a blazing, determined look. "At first, the sign was meant to be a joke, to help prove to Mum that even though I was doing insanely reckless stunts and traveling all over the world, that I would be alright. It caught on so much – I don't know – Then, it became habit to carry it around with me, even though I know she hates it."

Ginny was quiet for several minutes.

"And your brothers?" Harry asked.

"I think they resent me a bit for the mess I left Mum in,"

"But Ron–"

"Has been the most understanding," she informed him. "I never really understood why, but I'll bet anything it has something to do with you."

"Me?" Harry repeated.

Ginny nodded.

Another several minutes of silence passed between them.

"You know," Harry said, emerald gaze flicking back and forth between the moon and her face lit under its bright light, "In Zimbabwean culture, a new moon means a new season and a new day."

"That's true for many cultures, Harry,"

"True," he agreed, "but it means more here. Unlike Britons, Zimbabweans don't import and food or vegetables so, their selection of crops is completely dependent on the season. A new moon – a new harvest – is culturally very significant because of its symbolism to prosperity."

Ginny stared at him; her brown eyes sweeping across his features as if she were seeing them anew.

"All I'm saying is," Harry went on, "Perhaps, this new moon will bring some prosperity for us tomorrow. It'll be a new day, and a new adventure,"

"A new day," murmured Ginny, smiling up at the stars and the bright, full moon. "I like the sound of that."

"It's never too late to begin again," he whispered, patting her arm gently as he stood up, then offered her his hand. She took it and followed him back inside.

As with most nights lately, Harry didn't sleep well; he lost sleep dreaming about everything he and Ginny could be. So, he lay awake – in the cot across from hers – staring up at the night sky through the small open window and counting the stars.

* * *

Ginny laughed so openly and fully that her abdomen ached, and tears sprung to her eyes. She gasped, clutching her side and turned away from Harry so she could control her breathing. "Oh my god," she exhaled raggedly, glancing over her shoulder to see Harry standing there, a deep frown settling into his ebony brows, and began laughing all over again.

"You – Look – Riddikulus – Oh, I mean ridiculous," she gasped between dying bouts of laughter.

"Ha, _ha_," he tutted, emerald eyes glinting.

Ginny reached forward and tried to wipe away some of the flour from his face, biting down on her lip to refrain from losing herself to another giggle fit.

"Sorry, Harry," she murmured, flashing him an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, too, Ginny,"

"What do you have to be sorry about, I was the one who – AH!" She shrieked, throwing her hands up far-too late to block the incoming flour from Harry's fists. "_Harry!_"

"Fair is fair," he shrugged, grinning mischievously.

Ginny was about to throw another fistful of flour toward him (the first incident was accidental – truly) when she caught the eye of the surveying camera crew and the baker they were supposed to be impressing.

"Our apologies," she said in horribly broken Armenian.

When they finally received good enough marks on their fifteen handmade traditional pieces of bread known as _lavash _using a _tonir_, an Armenian underground oven, Ginny and Harry made their way out with low chuckles and furtive, playful shoves to one another.

Having finished that leg's Detour, they quickly wound their way through the city of Yerevan and completed a series of minor tasks; by mid-afternoon, yet still confident that they were ahead of at least one team for the time being, they boarded an overnight train through Armenia and Georgia. The entire trip, Ginny and Harry shared a small cot in a train compartment.

Not that she was complaining – Harry was more comfortable sharing close spaces with her now, and the two of them slept soundly pressed up against each other.

Unfortunately, nothing more interesting happened. For one, they were both _exhausted_ going into this last week of the race around the world. For another, Harry didn't make any move to see their friendship blossom into something more, and Ginny was terrified of making a move herself.

"You should really make up with your family," Harry said into the darkness.

Ginny sighed.

"Listen, I don't–"

"No, Ginny, you listen." Taken aback by his harsh tone, she quieted. Then, he went on. "Family is… everything. They may not be perfect, and you may not always get along, but you only get one. The way I see it, you owe them an apology."

"Harry–"

"I'm just saying," he continued, "if I had any family left, I would do everything in my power to make sure they knew how much I loved them – how much they matter to me."

Ginny frowned but remained silent.

"My scar," Harry said, his breath tickling the back of her neck where her hair was swept aside. "I got this scar the night my parents were murdered. _Murdered_, Ginny. I was barely a year old. I have never known them, and I will never know them because of the foul actions of a madman. Somehow, I survived, and I reward myself by pushing the boundaries of my life. You think I don't know why you do careless and reckless stunts? I know _exactly _why you do them. We are the same, and yet so different."

"I didn't know," she murmured.

"Yeah, well." Harry sighed, "I know why I want to be closer to death – living on the edge of life, always half a breath shy of crossing the boundary – but you? You have so much more to live for. Make it up with your family, Ginny."

Without another word, he turned over in the small space and left her to her tumultuous thoughts; Ginny didn't settle until long after Harry's breathing became rhythmic.

The next morning, well-rested but still bleary-eyed and wired, the two of them made their way to their only challenge of the day: skydiving in the Caucasus Mountains, at the intersection of Europe and Asia.

Ginny was _living_.

This was everything she loved rolled into one; there was the thrill of the jump, the rush of the fall, and the slight chance that one could die.

She turned to beam excitedly at Harry as the small, propeller plane soared into the clear blue sky. However, Harry did not seem nearly as electrified as Ginny felt; in fact, he looked immensely squeamish. Recalling his hatred of flying, Ginny took his hand in hers and laced their fingers to reassure him.

She was here; she wasn't going anywhere.

As they neared ten-thousand feet and the jump zone, Harry's anxiety worsened, deepening into a full-blown panic attack. He was inhaling and exhaling rapid, shallow breaths; his palms were slick with sweat, which also pooled on his temples.

"Harry?"

He stared straight ahead; his emerald green eyes unfocused and dilated.

"Are you ok? _Harry?_"

Ginny crouched down in front of him, then ran her hands through his hair, trying to soothe him. "Hey, look at me," she murmured gently, "Look at me, Harry – It'll be alright – Shh – It's only one small jump–"

He finally focused his eyes on her face, but now his expression of panic doubled.

"I mean – Err – _Fuck_ – There will be a guide jumping with us, alright? – You won't be alone," she said, willing him to settle. If anything, his panic attack worsened. "Harry, look at me – Shh – Oh, fuck this," she swore.

Ginny pressed her lips firmly to his, tasting salt with a hint of mint.

After a long moment, she broke away; her hands cupped his cheeks, and her eyes searched his, which thankfully returned to their normal state. His panic attack subsided completely.

"How – How did you do that?" Harry asked, childlike innocence evident in his tone.

"I – Err – I read somewhere that holding your breath could stop a panic attack so, when I – Err – kissed you, you held your breath."

"Thanks. That was brilliant," he whispered.

"Well," said Ginny, rocking back and letting her hands fall into her lap, "Your welcome." When he nodded, leaning back against the cool metal wall of the plane, she added under her breath, "And if I was really brilliant, I wouldn't have waited so long to do that."

The dive was surreal; the view was one-in-a-million, both in reference to Harry and the mountains.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and it was a familiar sensation, but it didn't rival the butterflies that flitted around in her stomach, or the dizzying sensation in her head, that was brought on from the memory of the kiss. Ginny let the winds whip unkindly against her bare cheeks and hands – a welcome respite from the longing to kiss him again.

He hadn't made any inclination after it happened that it rocked his world the way it shook hers, and even later that night, when they safely made it to the Pit Stop in first, Harry did not comment on it.

Bewildered – and thoroughly embarrassed – Ginny hid behind her walls once again.

* * *

She kissed him.

No –

She only kissed him to stop his panic attack.

It didn't mean anything… not to her.

Harry repeated these words over and over again in his head, on an endless loop. He wanted to confront her and ask about it, but he didn't feel it was appropriate to do so in front of the camera crew on _national television_, especially if she was only going to reject him. No, Harry didn't think he could take that blow.

For someone so ready to take physical risks, it was very off-putting to be confronted with an emotional risk.

Harry tried to talk to her before bed and first thing in the morning – the only time they truly had to themselves without cameras on them (especially since they were down to the final four teams) – but Ginny was first to roll over and fall asleep, then first to rise and rush out of the room.

"Oh good," Ginny exhaled when their Fast Forward challenge was presented to the remaining teams at Sentosa's WaveHouse, "I love surfing. I wonder how different it will be to surf on an artificially-generated wave."

"You surf?"

She didn't meet his eye but nodded.

"I've been a few times, and for some reason I picked it up pretty quickly. I'd like to think that's because I have very good balance," she told him.

"Huh," Harry exhaled.

He followed the other teams as all of them got set up in front of their boards; everyone was challenged with staying on their surfboard for at least two full minutes without falling, and the first team to succeed would win the advantage of surpassing the larger task that afternoon.

Ginny was true to her word and balanced expertly on her surfboard; she was one of the only ones not to fall every ten seconds, and, in fact, Harry didn't see her fall at all. He, meanwhile, struggled. His focus was anywhere but the thought of balancing on a small board as the artificially generated rafts rushed towards him, and his gaze kept wandering over to Ginny.

"Sorry," he mumbled, coming up to her afterwards. He wrung out his soaking clothes with a towel. she stood by and waited for him; she was dry. "We needed that advantage,"

"It's alright,"

"No, it's not," he argued, "I want us to get ahead – I know you want to win."

"It's fine, Harry,"

"It's _not_," he said, exasperated. She arched a red eyebrow at him questioningly. "Why won't you argue with me?"

"You want me to argue with you?"

Harry sighed. "We always banter."

Ginny shrugged.

Harry wanted to pull her aside and talk this over because something was clearly off between them, but a crew member came up and told them to go on and get a move on it; the other teams left minutes ago.

The minor tasks hidden throughout Singapore did little to ease the tension between them and by the time Harry and Ginny arrived at the Roadblock of the leg, both were equally on edge – literally as well since they both stood at the edge of the fifty-seventh floor of Marina Bay Sands hotel.

"That's one hell of a fall," remarked Ginny. "What a terrible way to go."

"We'll be belayed to a cord above the tightrope so, I doubt falling is even possible – I mean – _Look _at these cords. They're thicker than my arms,"

"That's not saying much," whispered Ginny.

"Are you–" Harry made a noise, somewhere between a scoff and an incredulous laugh. "Was that a joke?"

"What? Am I not allowed to make those?"

"No – I – Never mind," he said, sporting a ghost of a smile.

Harry double- and triple-checked his harness, then stepped out onto the tightrope; they needed to make it from one tower of the hotel to the second tower to retrieve the final clue of where their Pit Stop was located. Ginny followed closely behind him.

Halfway across, however, he no longer caught the scent of Ginny's floral shampoo wafting into his senses.

"Ginny?"

He turned over his shoulder and glanced back at her – she was stopped some ten feet behind him. Harry carefully and skillfully, turned and began walking back towards her.

"What's wrong?"

"I–"

He glanced at her slightly stunned expression and blinked.

"You have excellent balance," he pointed out. "You aren't afraid of heights, or you've fooled me if you are so, what's the matter?"

"I'm – I'm afraid of falling," she murmured.

The wind whistled loudly around them, and if Harry wasn't standing inches away from Ginny, he wouldn't have heard her; without a doubt, no one from the television show could hear them and so, Harry attempted to soothe her fears, glad that they weren't able to broadcast this intimate moment (miraculously, they missed the kiss as well because they didn't have their equipment set up yet).

Harry held out a hand to her.

"I won't let you go,"

"That's not what I meant – Not that kind of falling,"

Harry's reassuring smile spread infinitesimally.

"I know. I still mean what I said,"

"You won't let me go?"

"I won't let you go."

Ginny bit her lip, then took his proffered hand.

"Ok," she sighed.

The moment of victorious bliss didn't last long because, unfortunately, they were eliminated that round and immediately sent home.

* * *

"Do you really think they'll forgive me?"

Ron took his eyes off the dirt road in front of them for a quick glance askance at Ginny; the closer they got to the Burrow, the more nervous she became. The last time she walked through the front door of her childhood home was ages ago.

"Mum and Dad will be thrilled," he told her, sparing a lopsided grin. "As for Fred and George well… They'll come around. You three were close as ever as children, it really did my head in–"

"Ron, hush," chided Hermione from the backseat of his beat-up Ford Anglia. "This is not the time to bring up your pathetic excuse for childhood trauma,"

"You're right, 'Mione," he said in a mocking tone. "I reckon we have enough on our hands tonight with _this one's_ trauma."

"_Ronald!_"

"It's fine, Hermione," Ginny said as she smacked her brother on the arm; he continued laughing despite both women shaking their heads at him and muttering obscenities under their breath.

"Alright," Ron said as they all piled out of the car in the front lot of the Burrow. "I forgot I have to – Err – Get something – I'll be right back." He slid back into the driver's seat, then called out to Ginny, "Try not to burn the house down!"

"I make no promises!"

Hermione pursed her lips at Ginny's outburst, but she chose to ignore this in favor of drawing up the courage to step through the front door for Sunday roast. The quaint rural home was just as she remembered it; wonderful, mouth-watering smells wafted into the dining area from the kitchen, her Dad sat tinkering over some small device in the sitting room off to the right of the entryway, and the welcome mat was slick with mud.

"Hello," she called tentatively into the air.

Immediately, four redheaded figures appeared (her three eldest brothers weren't in attendance that Sunday).

"I'm sorry," Ginny blurted out. "I'm sorry for everything I put you through – for always making you worry. It won't happen again. I'll be better."

She stood there, shuffling uncomfortably from foot to foot, as the seconds ticked by loudly.

Just when Ginny was about to turn to Hermione and drag her out front, demanding Ron return to whisk her away from this awkward dinner, her mother came bounding across the entryway and wrapped her plump arms around Ginny's slim, athletic figure. She gasped, shocked, then hugged her mum back.

"I'm sorry, Mum,"

"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley wailed. "That's alright, dear! What's important is that you're here now, right? My girl, my darling girl," she wept into Ginny's shoulder. "Oh, my goodness,"

"Molly, dear, you're going to suffocate her," her father said, stepping in to remove his wife from his daughter, then took her place and hugged his daughter fiercely albeit quickly. He stepped back, cupped her cheek, and added, "Good to have you home, Ginny,"

"Good to be home," she replied, and she meant it.

The weight – the tension – that lived on her shoulders over the years of their estrangement lifted.

"You know," said Fred, stepping forward as her parents returned to what they were doing before her entrance; Hermione followed Ginny's mum into the kitchen to help finish preparing the dinner. "You look a bit like our sister," he said.

"Except you can't be her," added George, "because she disappeared off the face of the earth and let everyone in her family go berserk."

"Yeah," Fred agreed. "Even her idiot twin brothers were upset."

"Stupid of them," joked Ginny, flashing a crooked smile. "Don't they know better than that? I don't think their reckless baby sister would ever leave them – they're her favorites, you know."

"D'you reckon?"

Ginny nudged Fred playfully.

"Yeah, she told me so,"

"Well," said George, smacking his brother on the back. "There we have it. When the idiot brothers see their reckless baby sister again, she will be forgiven."

"_Brave_ baby sister," corrected Fred with a wink, causing Ginny and George to laugh with him. "We saw those stunts you pulled on Instagram."

"Can still be reckless even if I'm brave," said Ginny, rolling her eyes.

"True that," said Fred, "but what's the fun in doing brave, noble things if you can't be even a tad reckless doing them?"

"Well said, Brother Fred,"

"Thanks, Brother George,"

"I missed you two," Ginny smiled.

She helped Hermione set the table, leaving her brothers to wash up because according to their mum, they were "Filthy beyond measure," which was not suitable for dinner with guests.

"Mum," Ginny scoffed, "Hermione is hardly a guest, she's here more often than I am, honestly."

"I'm not talking about Hermione, dear," Mrs. Weasley replied wisely, then turned to the bushy-haired woman in question and angled a serving spoon at her accusingly from across the table. "Speaking of you, Hermione, when are you going to start dating my son?"

"Which one?" Ginny muttered under her breath, earning a smack on the back of her arm from her mother. "Ouch," she groaned.

Hermione flushed under Mrs. Weasley's scrutiny. "Actually," she said, biting her lip. "I'm dating someone new, now."

"_What?_" Ginny and her mum exclaimed at once. "_Who?_"

"Draco Malfoy," she admitted, turning even redder in the face.

Mrs. Weasley spluttered nonsense before disappearing off to the kitchen, but Ginny flashed Hermione an incredulous grin, and Hermione smirked in return; both young women vividly recalled Hermione's not-so one-night-stand earlier that year.

"Oh, Ginny," said Hermione, "I've been meaning to ask you, since you got back, how was the trip?"

"I know you're not really asking about the trip, Hermione," chastised Ginny playfully.

"Fine, fine. I'm not. How was Harry? Did you two get along alright? Ron and I think you two would – Oh, what's that face for?"

Ginny sighed, realizing there was no way to hide it anymore. "It's been nearly two weeks since we've been back, and I haven't heard from him _at all_. I really thought that–"

A loud bang of the front door swinging wide open interrupted their chat, and Ginny spun to see what caused the commotion, and subsequent intake of breath from Hermione, who was already facing the direction of the door.

* * *

"I mentioned it to Mum that you'd be coming, of course, but I didn't say anything to anyone else because I wanted to surprise Hermione and Ginny – How are you two by the way? Have a good run around the world, yeah?"

Ron kept rambling, and Harry supplied him with the occasional word of encouragement, or nod, to keep him satisfied; however, Harry's mind was busy running rampant with what he was about to walk into.

He wasn't sure _where _he and Ginny stood at the moment, actually.

Harry was stupid enough to forget to exchange numbers with her at the airport before they went their separate ways – seeing as they lived in completely different parts of England – and by the time he recalled Ron would make a good resource for tracking Ginny down, too much time had elapsed. It would have been weird to get her number from him by then, and then he might have had to tell Ron _why_ he wanted his mate's little sister's phone number.

Shooting her a direct message over Instagram was completely out of the question.

Thus, Harry resorted to more… extraneous… measures.

Somehow, he planted the idea in Ron's head that they ought to meet up, and that Harry could visit his place in order to see Hermione (and Ginny) as well since they all lived close by one another. Unfortunately, Harry didn't think much past this part of the plan.

Ron swung open the front door and stepped back ceremoniously, displaying Harry as if he were some tournament trophy won in a deadly battle.

Harry's mind went momentarily blank as Ginny slowly turned, but when her warm brown eyes met his, he stepped forward without thinking; he held out his arms, taking her in them, and kissed her.

She tasted sweet, like honey, and fresh, like water on a boiling hot day; this kiss was everything he could have dreamed of, and he didn't want it to end. When several moments passed – or blissfully beautiful summer days in the sun, or deep in a cave in the middle of the Mediterranean – Harry and Ginny broke away, grinning stupidly at one another.

When Harry finally glance over Ginny's head, still wrapping her in his arms, he saw Hermione beaming and squealing her delight into Ron's shoulder. Ron, meanwhile, stood stunned – like he'd just been hit over the head with a frying pan – as his twin brothers whooped and cheered from behind him. Their noise shook him from his catatonic state, and he offered Harry a lopsided smile that seemed to say _Well, if you must._

Ginny signaled for Harry to follow her out to the garden before dinner, and once they were outside, with the sun melting into the horizon behind her bright, flaming hair, she turned to him.

"Why now?"

"Not now," he amended, "Always. I'm sorry it took so long–"

"You were afraid."

It wasn't a question, Harry noticed.

"I was afraid. The thought of messing up – messing this up with you – it killed me." He admitted.

"So, what made you finally change your mind then? I mean – don't get me wrong – I'm not complaining, but…" Ginny trailed off, shrugging, and Harry nodded; he knew what she meant.

"Everything that kills me, makes me feel alive… including loving you," said Harry.

* * *

**A/N - **Aww, well I hoped you enjoyed it. I reread the HP series recently, and I grew a newfound love for Hinny because, let's be honest, book Ginny was so much better than film Ginny. Anyway, I have _tons_ of one-shots planned for this collection, and many of them will _not_ be Dramione pairing (don't worry there will still be plenty of Dramione - I physically cannot write about either of them with someone else). If you have any preferences for any particular pairing, please let me know so I can prioritize those one-shots!


End file.
